


Perennial

by Mozzarella



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Gen, Genderbending, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:16:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 53
Words: 62,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/pseuds/Mozzarella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little Bella Baggins finds an unconscious dwarf one day, while looking for elves in the forest. In two weeks, she makes the strangest and loveliest friend she's ever had, only to lose him again when he takes his leave. </p><p>He promised he would come back. For he was a king, and kings keep their promises. And his promise was something Bella never wanted to forget. </p><p>But she left those childish fancies long ago. After all, she was a Baggins of Bag End, a proper and pragmatic lady who didn't live in impossible dreams about marrying kings or riding off on adventures. It just wasn't done. </p><p>Too bad no one told her king that. </p><p>(Or in which young Bella Baggins ropes a dwarf king into promising to marry her in exchange for saving his life, and a king keeps his promises no matter what)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Improper Bella Baggins

Little Bella Baggins was something of a wonder, and a novelty, and just a bit of an annoyance to the folks of the Shire.

She was a little girl--not a little lady, as they were wont to call other girls her age. For Bella Baggins did not act in the way ladies acted, always wearing trousers and hitching up her skirts (if she wore any at all) and splattering herself with mud every day. She wrestled with the boys (and very often won) and danced with the girls and, when there was nothing else to do, went off into the forest to find the elves that her father and mother told her about.

The gentlefolk of the Shire gave her many more allowances than they believed she deserved for two reasons: one, she was young, and still had quite a few years to grow out of her childishness, and two, she was a Took, and Tooks were very well known for their strangeness.

"One day," though, they said, "One day she will be a proper Baggins lady. She'll have no more to do with those silly adventures or want for strange big folk. Just like her mother, she'll settle with a good husband and live the rest of her days quietly. Might as well give her her time."

Bungo Baggins himself was a firm believer in Bella's time. He had loved the adventurous spirit in his own wife, Belladonna (Belladonna the second was his daughter, though they rarely called her anything more than Bella to avoid confusion), though his relief was palpable when Belladonna gave up her adventures to live their lives quietly.

Still, they smiled and laughed when they regaled Bella with stories of adventures that were both theirs and others', and though they tapped their feet and crossed their arms when the little girl came home covered in mud and twigs, they kissed her forehead and sent her off to take a bath and sang her to sleep, letting her dream of adventures while she was still young. 

There was no harm in it, after all.

This was the reason Bella kept going back to the forests, looking for the graceful big folk she'd heard so many stories about.

She never went too far. Though she was adventurous, she wasn't empty-headed, like some of her Took cousins. Her Baggins wits served her well in memorizing the more hazardous places between the trees, such as the bog a little ways west and the dusty steep near the grassless path which could cause great injury if you could not see where you were stepping.

Bella balanced herself on both feet as she crossed, one eye on the close edge--one eye spotting a dark shape at the bottom where there should have just been light brown earth.

"Hello!" she called, making out the form of a person--much larger than her, but much too small to be a man or an elf.

She rushed down the path, finding the split in the road which led down to where she'd seen the felled figure, a bit darker and deeper than she usually liked to go.

Her breath caught in her throat when she realized exactly _what_ this person was, face down and unmoving, long black hair spread over its back. 

She rolled the heavy body over, whispering "dwarf" as she registered the thick black beard and the measure of the man, smaller than the men in Bree but three times larger than she, at least!

She put her ear to his mouth and heard little puffs, the dwarf's chest rising and falling under her tiny hand.

He was alive, but the sizeable lump on his head told Bella that he probably wouldn't wake if she shook him.

Instead, she pondered on a way to get him back up onto the path.

She certainly couldn't lift him, and it was too far to call for help. She couldn't leave him in the forest, either--who knew what animals might find his unmoving body appealing enough to drag away?

Such pondering was the reason why, about an hour later, Bella Baggins was seen entering the Shire from the forest path, shoulders strapped in with vines, dragging a rather large thing--was that a body!?--with her, her lovely gold hair in tangles and covered head to toe in dust.

And with some help from some very apprehensive Shire folk, Bella was able to bring word to her parents about her discovery, and the dwarf was carried on by a plodding pony to the round, green door of Bag End.


	2. Belladonnas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin is outwitted by the ladies of the house.

Dwarves were suspicious types (but not terribly smart), and it took this one an entire day to figure out that he was no longer in any danger. At around this time, Bella was present, along with her mother and father, as the dwarf introduced himself as Thorin Oakenshield, "at-your-service-and-your-family's". He thanked them for saving his life, though Belladonna quite smartly pushed her daughter in front of her, saying, "You'll want to thank this one, master dwarf. She was the one who dragged you out of that pit all by herself."

Bella shied away behind her mother's skirts, not daring to look up at the now conscious dwarf, whose eyes had fallen on her with curiosity. From where he was sitting, Thorin could see little gold ringlets, little pointed ears peeking out from under them, and when the fauntling dared a glance, little eyes like emeralds blinking up at him with undeniable curiosity of her own. 

Everything about his supposed savior was little, even to Thorin, who had spent enough time in the villages of men to know that he himself was not as large or as intimadating as he'd felt among his own people. It made him doubt, for a moment, that this child--this girl, at that--had really done as she'd claimed. 

He said so, in words that were not kind, but certainly not cruel. 

The reaction was immediate, and altogether unexpected. 

"Well, mister dwarf, if I hadn't found you, you would certainly be dead now! Bleeding out, or--or, food for wild animals, or captured by bandits, or orcs or goblins or even living trees! I know they're real--mama told me so!" she cried shrilly. "I _did_ save your life, I _did_ , just like a hero in a storybook, even if you _were_ heavy and smelled like a fireplace and your hair got tangled in some bushes and I ruined my favorite shirt trying to get it out without cutting it." 

"Bella," her father scolded, clamming her up immediately as she hid again in shame. 

"No, master hobbit, she is right," Thorin said, the beginnings of a smile breaking over his face. "I am sorry I doubted you, little miss. Certainly it was not my intention to offend. I was simply making sure," he said, chuckling softly, "because you see, acts of bravery like that are often rewarded among dwarves." 

The fauntling peeked out once more, her eyes wide and wondering. 

"What kind of reward?" she asked cautiously. 

"Why, anything at all," Thorin said, getting up gingerly and going down on one knee, at level with the halfling child. "Anything that is within my power to give. You saved my life after all, and as you said, you ruined your own belongings and spared me mine. You have done me a great service, and a prince's gratitude is not something he gives lightly."

"A prince?" Bella gasped, dropping the hem of her mother's skirt completely. 

Belladonna and Bungo exchanged glances, their eyebrows almost reaching their hairlines. 

"Are you really a prince?" she asked, her eyes wide as saucers as she stood directly in front of the dark-haired dwarf. 

"Well," said Thorin, thoughtfully, "my grandfather was a king. And my father was a prince. So in a way, that makes me a prince as well." 

He smiled at the child, but there was sadness in his eyes, and it did not escape notice. 

"Where are they now?" Bella asked quietly. 

"They... they are gone now."

Bella gasped.

"I have my sister, and I have my kin, who I am to meet in two week's time in the dwarven settlement in the blue mountains. So I am not alone, little fauntling," he said quickly, seeing the sadness in her own eyes and the tears that threatened to fall so easily for his misfortunes. 

"You are welcome to stay here," Belladonna spoke up, sensing that Bella was in a delicate disposition. "To wait out the fortnight." 

"I cannot possibly intrude," Thorin said seriously. 

"Of course not!" Belladonna said. "This house was made for much more than just a couple and their one daughter. We have many extra rooms, and our larder is well-stocked. And anyway, master dwarf, you are still healing, which means you must stay _at least_ another two days before you are fit for travel."

"Is it the habit of your kind to keep accidental patients incarcerated?" Thorin said, without any malice to his tone (though it oozed with annoyance, which Belladonna did not ignore). 

"Prince or pauper, master dwarf, you are under the roof of Bag End, and must follow its rules," said Belladonna. 

"And one of the most important rules is to listen to her," Bungo supplied, chuckling. "For she will not be swayed, I promise you that." 

Thorin looked just about ready to argue, but was stopped in his tracks by the child that barely reached half his size, tugging on the material of his shirt and saying, "Gratitude," as if that explained everything. 

"What?"

"You _said,"_ Bella said impatiently, "that a-prince's-gratitude-is-not-taken-lightly. And I still haven't decided on what to ask for. So you have to stay until I do." 

"...Ah."

"She has you there, my friend," Bungo said, the amusement all too obvious in his shoulders, shaking with laughter. 

Thorin knew when he was defeated, and more frustratingly so when he could do nothing but accept his defeat with as much graciousness as he could muster, outwitted by two hobbit females, one of them little more than a child. 

And, he supposed, he didn't mind all that much. A few days of comfort and decent meals was hardly a punishment. 

"A few days," said Thorin. "And no more."

"Of course," said Belladonna, her eyes bright with the distinct look of a woman who knew how to take advantage of such a vague measure of time. 


	3. King and princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where a prince is a king and a fauntling is a princess, and Bella defends Thorin's honor.

If anyone had told Thorin a week ago that he would be under the thrall of a child and forced to do the bidding of one by word alone, he... would have believed them, because if there was one thing that Thorin could admit a weakness, it was his awe and affection for children, especially little girls, for he'd experienced taking care of his own sister when they had just begun their travels away from the sacked Erebor.

Dwarf children were so few, so far in-between, and they grew too fast for Thorin to properly enjoy their company. And very often, they were not as rambunctious as you would expect children to be, having few playmates and many responsibilities both given and taken upon, to help their parents and the community.

Bella Baggins was a child after Thorin's own heart--proud but not foolish, running ahead but always looking back to make sure Thorin was following her. Her mother and namesake, Belladonna, had asked Thorin to accompany her for the day, so he could get his bearings and know his way around the Shire if need be. 

Of course, he didn't expect to be dragged along by a Hobbit child who was level with his hip around a town where no one stood any taller than he, even among the heartiest of their men. He also did not expect to be flaunted in such a way children do with their newfound companions, and he could see the pride, and even a bit of arrogance, in the girl when she approached the other hobbitlings her age and proclaimed he was a _real_ dwarf from the books-- _real dwarf,_ meaning (as Thorin found out) he had a serviceable sword, as well as a decent shirt of mail for armor and axes and hammers and daggers and other such weaponry at his disposal.

He didn't know whether to be horrified or amused that he was being shown off like a trinket, but he couldn't bring himself to be disturbed when Bella would look back at where he sat on some stones of a decent height, give him a dazzlingly wide smile that he suspected had saved her from many a scolding, and insisted upon Thorin's greatness when she was met with doubtful stares from her companions--a handful of hobbit boys and two hobbit girls who Bella had introduced as her cousins.

He was a bit of both--horrified and amused--when the mood shifted as one of the boys said something Thorin couldn't hear, though he could see the look of disdain on the young hobbit's face. He was an ugly, impish thing when he turned his nose up at the hobbit girl and planted his hands on his hips, looking down at her from an inch or two above her own height, but he didn't hold his position for long. Whatever it was he had said, the next thing Thorin knew, the two fauntlings were rolling in the dirt, shrieks sounding from both.

He feared for Bella at first (a little because he had been entrusted with her safety, and if she came home with bruises from a brawl with a young hobbit boy, he'd have failed in that respect), but found that his worries were unfounded when he hurried over, parting the small crowd of hobbitlings and finding Bella perched on the boy's upper back, biting his arm with a viciousness he didn't expect in such a small, sweet-looking child.

Thorin had to remove her bodily from the other boy, and carried her away before any more of a fuss was made. She was--well, she was _growling_ like a pup until they crossed over the little hill and disappeared down the road.

 

-

Bella really was quite good at brooding when she put her mind to it. He never would have guessed, what with all the energy she'd exhibited the past three days Thorin had been a guest at the Baggins household, accepting three of their six meals a day and sharpening his blades behind the grand smial, constantly reminded by Belladonna not to strain himself too much.

They sat beside a pond with fish that were easily half the fauntling's size, and Thorin kept a close eye on her as she skipped stones at the pond's edge, hair mussed, cheeks red from frustration and silent as a stone.

After a while, and a fifth chucked stone, Thorin spoke, his tone softened by a playfulness he did not often use beyond his own family. "It is neither my business nor my expertise to judge the actions of a hobbit child--a young hobbit girl, at that--but I am curious as to what sparked your ire against the poor boy whose arm you gnawed on."

Bella stiffened, her shoulders rising. Thorin was briefly visited by the image of an angry cat, or a recalcitrant kitten.

"He said you were a fake, that you weren't really a noble," Bella said. "He said that dwarves didn't come to the Shire unless they were thieves or... unsav'ry folk."

Thorin quieted. The words of a thoughtless child mattered nothing to him, but the look in Bella's eyes when she faced him was one of righteous anger, and just a sliver of fear.

"Do you not believe him?" Thorin asked thoughtfully. "It is a fair assumption to make."

"No!" the child whined. "You _aren't_ a fake. You can't be a fake! You have the sword and--and the coat and the armor. Just 'cause they're a bit old doesn't mean they're not real."

"Indeed," Thorin said, pushing further, "but anyone can buy armor. Anyone can buy a sword, or create one of his own, as a dwarf. What makes you so sure that I am what I claim to be?"

Her bottom lip shook, and Thorin wondered for a moment if he'd pushed her too far. But she squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye and said "You look like one," with more clarity and certainty that Thorin expected in a child's fancy. 

"Look like one?" he questioned.

"You look like all of the kings in the storybooks," Bella explained further, tears prickling at her eyes but ending before they could begin as her wavering voice grew stronger. "They didn't stand the same way as the villains, or the regular folk. They stood like a king would stand, like they couldn't be knocked down. Like they were mountains. And they always looked very old, in their eyes, even when they were very young. You look very old in your eyes, like a king."

She was looking at him, but she seemed to look through him as well, seeing something that was beyond the shabby traveler that he must have appeared to all others. He was struck by her words. He couldn't believe they'd come from a mere child, but here she was, standing like she was more than three feet high, like she her knees weren't scraped with mud or her hair wasn't mussed from a fight. She seemed almost regal, chin turned up but far from arrogant, simply sure.

"And anyone who impunns your honor should be punished!" she added.

Thorin sighed, smiling softly as he reached down to pat the golden-haired head, brushing the ringlets into some semblance of order with an open palm. "Impugns, little princess," he corrected affectionately.

"M'not a princess," Bella said, shaking off the dwarrow's large hand. 

 "You remind me very much of one that I know," Thorin said. "She was proud, like you. She grew into a fierce young woman, strong-willed and good-hearted and the best of herself. I can see much of my sister in you, my dear fauntling. But if you do not wish to be a princess, then I shall not dishonor your wishes."

Bella took his offered hand as they walked away from the pond, back to the path that led home.

"If I'm gonna be a princess, I'll do it the proper way," Bella said, the skip returning to her step.

"And what is that?"

Bella pondered on this deeply, free hand on her chin.

"I dunno," she admitted. "But I'll do it. And," she said, more shyly, "I do want to be a princess. But a proper one, not just a pretend one."

"I can think of someone no worthier," Thorin said indulgently, surprised at himself when he realized it wasn't a lie.

 


	4. Hearth fires and heart fires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella learns how hearth fires relate to those long in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not REALLY a proper chapter, is it? But I don't want to break my daily update streak, and I'd rather stick to short chapters than procrastinate.
> 
> The hearth fire thing is a theme I've used with other stories; falling in love is like a forest fire, burning bright and strong, but dying out in the end. Staying in love (or true love) is like a hearth fire, ever-burning and every warm, the light of a home to return to.

There were a great many things Bella found distasteful about becoming a princess.

For one thing, princesses never seemed to _do_ anything. In the stories, all the princesses were captured by dragons or evil sorcerers, and had to sit and wait for a prince to rescue them. The most they did was whisper answers in their prince's ears when there were riddles the princes themselves couldn't figure, and while Bella did enjoy many a good riddle, it was against her Tookish nature to abide by the sitting and waiting part. 

She wasn't lying when she told Thorin she wanted to be a princess, though. Perhaps a different sort of princess, the kind who could go on adventures and answer riddles on their own, and maybe save the prince once in a while. But she  _did_ want to be a princess.  

Because the princess, in all the stories, every one, got to marry the prince. 

And though it was a sentiment she never shared with anyone, it was something Bella wanted that all the princesses had. 

And here was Thorin, a real life prince (of course she believed him, because she wasn't often wrong about this sort of thing and wasn't in the habit of listening to the criticisms of the folks in the Shire who turned their noses up at her when they thought she wasn't looking), and _she'd_ saved _his_ life. 

"Mama," Bella piped up as Belladonna the elder tucked her into bed. 

"Yes, my flower?"

"In the stories in the books on the shelf in the hall," Bella began, running over the words quickly, in a way that made Belladonna laugh quietly. "The hero stories with the princesses," the child specified. 

"Hmm? What about them?" Belladonna asked. 

"In the stories, when the hero rescues the princess, he marries her in the end," Bella said, and Belladonna nodded. 

"Does that mean that when a hero saves someone in real life, they both get married?" Bella asked carefully. 

"Now wherever did you get that idea?" Belladonna asked, settling beside her daughter on the small bed, studying the downy top of Bella's head, the only part of the fauntling still visible above the sheets. 

Bella shrugged, hiding her face, which was reddening with embarrassment, from her mother. "In the stories, when the prince or the hero rescues the princess, they always get married in the end." 

"I suppose," Belladonna said thoughtfully, "but you shouldn't put too much stock in those types of stories. The menfolk have always been strange with their women, unlike the grand elves or the dwarrows, or even us hobbits--on the Took side, anyway." 

"So does that mean saving someone's life doesn't really mean you can marry them?" Bella asked, much more quietly, afraid to arouse her mother's suspicions. 

"My heart, people marry because they love each other," Belladonna said, "not because of silly things like life debts, or politics. Dreadful things, politics. They muck up the whole affair of marriage. We hobbits, Tooks or otherwise, know marriages don't depend on silly things like ranks and families. No matter how different two people are, if they love each other, marriage should be the last step, not the first." 

Bella nodded her understanding, though her heart sank when she thought of how selfish her wishes had been. 

"How do two people know when they're in love?" Bella asked. 

"My, you're inquisitive tonight," Belladonna said warmly. "Well, it's different for each person. But for me and your father, it was something like... a hearth fire. A warm house and a merry crackle and a light that does not burn out so long as there is someone home to keep it. You sit beside it through cold nights and never want to leave its side, and it lulls you to sleep, knowing you are safe and happy and _home_ rather than out there, alone, in the cold and dark.

"Ever since I realized I was in love with your father, I never wanted to leave his side, and he was never far from mine. Why, if I'd gone on another adventure, I do believe he'd have come right along, despite his fear of the world of the big folk. But he built us a home and a hearth of our own, and I've never been happier than I have been with him."

Bella pondered on this, head half-hidden beneath the sheets, even as her mother kissed her goodnight. 

Sometime in the night, awakened by the quiet but still audible tramp of dwarvish boots down the hallway, Bella Baggins slipped out of bed, and walked down the hall to the den, where the fire was flickering dimly and their dwarf guest was sitting beside it, deep in thought and pipe in hand. 

"Did I wake you?" Thorin said softly, when he spotted Bella in the hallway, one hand clutching her blanket, eyes large and ponderous, green as emeralds in a dark mine, with the firelight flickering in them and in her golden hair. 

She seemed deep in thought, and gave him no answer. It wasn't until a minute had passed that Bella seemed to make a silent decision known only to her own mind, and she approached, climbing the chair and settling beside Thorin, beside the hearth that warmed them both. It was here she fell asleep, wrapped in blankets like a bundle, and it was this way that Thorin left her, he himself succumbing to slumber when the last of the fire flickered away, leaving dim embers where there was once flame. 


	5. Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to take down warg scouts, a lesson in swordsmanship by Thorin Oakenshield, as taught to Bella Baggins of the Shire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you all to know that within the next three or so chapters, everything's gonna go downhill and I'm adding a new tag. Enjoy the cute! Because you're gonna miss it soon enough...

Thorin had spent a good number of days in Bag End, and by the end of the first week, he was aware of the niggling desire in his heart to stay for much longer. He had no need to leave, though his injuries were almost fully healed--it was another six days before he was expected, before Dis would have arrived with Dwalin and Balin and the small company of dwarves who had traveled with them from Glanduin.  
  
He was not looking forward to the encounter, for though he missed his sister (grown now, a beautiful woman with equally beautiful children who were just beginning their lessons, courtesy of the loyal brothers Balin and Dwalin), he was expected with guests who would never come.  
  
Indeed, for he had parted from the small company with the intention of asking for assistance and a small alliance of sorts with a small band of dwarves who had settled near Bree. They all but laughed at him, their leader sending him off with a kind word and a cruel smile, leaving him to navigate the route in the evening. It was near morning that he'd fallen in the forest, and sometime after noon that he'd woken in a small bed, his head bandaged and large green eyes staring up at him from their place right above the edge of the bed.  
  
Dis had always said he needed to work on his people skills, but he knew that she would have done the same in his place, for these were dwarves unworthy of the friendship of the line of Durin, ornery and dishonorable and without allegiance to anyone but themselves.  
  
He had found more honor in the gentlefolk of the Shire, who knew nothing of battles and debts and bloodlines. They were not even of the same species, and yet Thorin had been treated kinder by them than he'd been treated by his own people.  
  
If they were once strangers, they were no longer, and Thorin would readily consider the family of three who lived in Bag End, mother, father and child, to be as close as his own kin.  
  
This was why, though his mission was clear and his tasks set, he wished he could linger a bit longer, sitting on a grassy knoll while the rambunctious little hobbit girl rolled down the hill in grass-stained skirts, attempting to ambush invisible enemies in the high grass.  
  
"I have you now!" he heard her call.  
  
"And who is it that you have, then?" Thorin returned, chuckling.  
  
He saw her golden curls pop up from the corner of the grass field, and after a moment's thinking, she responded, "Orcs!"  
  
"Orcs?"  
  
"Riding on wargs!" Bella added.  
  
"I daresay at your height, you would not even be able to reach the orcs, perched so high on their wargs."  
  
Bella huffed at that. "But then they could not get me with their swords, they'd have to swing too low, and fall right off!" she said.  
  
"Then you are at an advantage. Tell me, is it in the habit of hobbit lasses to carry swords?" Thorin asked, eyeing the stick in her hand.  
  
"No," she said, swinging it around. "But I could have one made. Or I could use a man's knife. They're big enough for me to use as swords."  
  
"Then you will be a formidable enemy indeed," Thorin said, meeting her at the edge of the grassy field. "You could strike your enemies at their feet, and cripple them with your little sword." He took her wrist and showed her the motion, a stab and a slash, as if to take down a much larger enemy. "And then you could run away, hide in the high grass where they cannot find you."  
  
"Run away?" Bella said, her voice whining slightly.  
  
"Sometimes it is best to run away," said Thorin, "if you wish to live to fight again. It is foolish to engage in a conflict when you are not sure of your victory. The sword is not merely a tool of the arm, but also of the head, and you should strive not to lose yours."  
  
Bella nodded, accepting his lesson readily. He nodded thoughtfully, and then took her by the shoulders.  
  
"Here," he said. "This is how you hold your weapon. You must have both feet planted solidly on the ground, but you must also be ready to move when needed." He watched as she shifted her feet with ease, though her stance with the 'weapon' in her hand was far from perfect.  
  
"You must strike at level, a low strike for others. Learn to duck, and learn to run, and learn to hide, for your hobbit feet were built for such tasks. When you strike, do not falter, do not fear. Focus. Find the right place, and the right time, and do not hesitate for a moment."  
  
Bella looked solemn as he showed her the movement, looking ahead, imagining an enemy she was bringing down, small as she was.  
  
From Thorin, there were no tedious questions. "What would a girl do with a sword?" "Why do you wish to learn? These aren't the sort of things a proper hobbit would engage in, let alone a Baggins lady." With Thorin, there was only the lesson, a way to defend and a way to escape danger, and a way to face it to the best of one's ability.  
  
And though she was no seer, Bella knew that she would remember this day, this lesson, which ran from early in the afternoon to the twilight over the hill, forever and ever.  
  
\--  
  
It was sometime in the night that there was a knock on the door of Bag End. Thorin was at his usual place beside the fire, smoking his pipe with Bungo Baggins, who had settled quite comfortably, his feet propped up, smoking as well in the comfort of his own home, with a guest he had no issue with.  
  
Belladonna was busy tucking Bella in, though the child wished to stay up with Thorin and her father, and try Old Toby, for which she was much too young. There was one memorable occasion when Bungo had allowed her a puff of the weed, and that was a night to remember, one of the few instances it was Belladonna scolding her husband for being reckless rather than the other way around. After all, a Took calling a Baggins reckless? It was unheard of.  
  
This night, it was Thorin who answered the door, though Bungo had been fumbling with his robe to do it himself.  
  
He was surprised by the sight of a man holding his horse by its reigns, down at the gate of Bag End. The man was wide awake, even at the late hour, and he looked pleased to see Thorin when he stepped out of the smial door.  
  
"Ah! I am glad I found you," said the man. "Master Thorin?"  
  
"Who is asking?" Thorin questioned.  
  
"I, ah, have a message from Bree. Well, it was sent to Bree, though you were not present. I was told by the inkeeper that you had gone in the direction of the Shire, and I had hoped that you were still here. I was told that you were residing in this place."  
  
"Temporarily," Thorin said, taking the letter from the messenger's hand. It bore the royal seal, though it was on commonplace parchment. Thorin suspected it was a letter from Dis, and it did indeed carry the faint scent of her perfume. He thanked the messenger for his troubles, and Bungo, who had been standing at the door behind him, offered the messenger some food. It was a short enough journey, the messenger assured, though some bread and cheese would do no wrong to him.  
  
And so the man was sent off with a loaf and a block, thanking their kindness, and Thorin sat by the fire to read the letter.  
  
It was from Dis, with messages from Balin. Apparently, some distant kin were stopping by Bree, and Thorin was to see them before they went on their way to the Blue Mountains, for they had something to give him. He decided to go tomorrow, early in the day, to catch them after breakfast, for by Dis' count, they had already arrived, to take their rest in one of the inns.  
  
He would ask the watchman at the gate if he had noticed any dwarf visitors coming and going, and hopefully the meeting would be swift, and he would be back before dark. Even in such an amiable environment, there was still the danger of things that came out only at night.  
  
He told Bungo this, just as the hobbit was retiring to bed, and the husband and father prepared him something for the journey, as though Thorin would starve if he went without food for a day. He thanked Bungo before bidding him goodnight, assuring him that he would put out the hearth before he himself retired.  
  
When Thorin had checked over his things (Bungo gave him directions to a stable just on the edge of West Farthing, so that a pony might speed his travels some), he returned to put the fire out, to save the excess fuel, and found Bella Baggins in his seat (he was sure he'd heard nothing in the halls, but she was like a burglar--albeit a tiny one), fast asleep, large feet (the only thing large about her, it seemed) kicking restlessly as she dreamt of some adventure or other.  
  
He would be gone when she awoke, but would return before she was asleep, if things went well. Surely she could keep out of trouble for one day, though Thorin doubted that as soon as the thought occurred to him.  
  
Bella Baggins defined trouble, and that was something in which he knew the entirety of the Shire would be in agreement.  
  
She was a little bundle of trouble, one that Thorin gathered in his arms and carried back to her own bed, and she was Thorin's bundle of trouble for as long as he could keep her. In his heart, he wished he could keep her forever, but he knew he had to let go, just as he did when he set her down, tucking her under the sheets and watching her find peace in sleep as he left to do the same.  
  



	6. Misfortune round the bend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Riders on stallions and riderless ponies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna put this off until tomorrow but why put off today what you can put off tomorrow, right?

  
In the morning, when Bella Baggins woke up in her own bed, the first thing she did was sneak a biscuit from the larder. The second thing she did was make her way soundlessly to the room that had been provided as Thorin's sleeping quarters, where she crept in, quieter than a mouse in a stone palace, so as to not wake him.   
  
Dismay was too small a word to describe what she felt when she realized there was no one to wake.   
  
The bed had been slept in, clear enough, but it was empty, not just of a dwarf, but also of his packs, and his weapons, and his armor.   
  
In fact, there was nothing left of Thorin save for the thrown sheets and the lumped cushions, a mere shadow of his presence.   
  
She ran to and fro, searching every room apart from her own and her parents', and she found that he was indeed gone, his boots missing from the side of the door. She found herself back in his room before she knew it, and even as she rationalized his absence, she realized that yes, Thorin had told her, a couple of days ago, that he would have to leave soon. She'd known this from the beginning, and responded to the situation by spending every waking day with the dwarf, insisting on his presence when she played and even sitting still for hours, so long as it was by his side that she was sitting. She just didn't expect it to happen so soon.   
  
And without a goodbye.   
  
She'd steeled herself for goodbyes. She imagined herself to be quite strong, and brave enough to endure his leaving with a straight back, a locked jaw, and no tears (or, in the very least, fewer tears than she might have shed without restraint). But he was gone, without a word or a by-your-leave, and more so, without waiting for her to tell him what her reward was to be.   
  
So Bella did what any child would do in such a situation.   
  
She cried.   
  
She fell to the floor in sobbing heaves, her hands clutching the side of the bed and her chin propped on the mattress, tears soaking into the sheets.   
  
This was how Bungo found her, tears streaming from her eyes and a wet trail from her nose, her face contorted, ugly and open with unbridled devastation, and it took him a good hour and a half to comfort her with assurances that Thorin was just running an errand in Bree, why, he even brought a pony, he would be back before she knew it.   
  
She did not have breakfast, too late in her distress and guilt to take it. She spent second breakfast at the pond, practicing her stone throwing skills, skipping flat ones and tossing round ones at fish.   
  
And after an early brunch, where she had quite a bit to make up for her missed meals, she decided to make her way to the edge of the forest with one of the good number of history books that sat on the book shelves in Bag End. She knew a spot where she could watch the comings and goings on the main road, one which led in from the outer roads and would fork between the well-used road to Bree, and the smaller path to Hobbiton.   
  
There were not that many passers by, only the occasional messenger, and a cart or two plodding along, carrying wares or traded crop.   
  
The highlight of the day came not two hours later, while she sat beneath a gnarled old tree and enjoyed its shade. She saw a stallion galloping toward Bree from a distance, its rider cloaked and weighed by weapons at his hip. She hid behind the tree when she thought the rider had looked up, and held her breath as the gallop slowed and the horse tossed its head.   
  
"Who goes there?" came a gruff call. "Show yourself!"   
  
Bella shakily revealed her hiding spot, looking down at the man who'd pulled back his hood, studying the fauntling critically.   
  
"Child," he said, nodding, "you're from the Shire, aren't you?"   
  
Bella nodded.   
  
"You shouldn't be out here, by the road," the man continued. "There have been reports of bandits attacking travelers on the road. Some men, some dwarves... all of them larger than you, and dangerous. You should go back to your home. It's not safe."   
  
The man seemed ready to ride on, but Bella stopped him with a call. "Do the bandits knock you on the head and leave you in the woods!?" she asked.   
  
"Worse than that, child," the man responded. "They slit your throat and take your belongings without a second thought. Not many bandits would take pity on even the smallest of children. Go back to your home, little hobbit. Far too many dangers passing near this road."   
  
Bella felt a chill in her heart as the rider disappeared down the road to Bree.   
  
Thorin would be back by nightfall, she reminded herself. He would not be so long in coming that she should worry.   
  
But she did worry, well into the afternoon when she sat with her mother, taking lessons in her letters, and when they ate their supper together, just the three.   
  
She stayed up for many hours after dark, waiting for Thorin to come back, and fell asleep against the window, no sign of the dwarf on the horizon.   
  
Still, she was the first one to wake in the early hours of the morn, eyes wide and bleary when she heard the clippity-clop of pony shoes coming close to Bag End.   
  
But when she looked through the window, she saw a pony, tossing its long hair outside the gate, a pack hanging halfway off its back, riderless.   
  
And when she came closer, she saw one of Thorin's coats falling through the pack's seam, and blood on the pony's flank.   
  
In the morning, when Bungo and Belladonna Baggins woke up for first breakfast, Bella Baggins was gone.


	7. [preview] Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short preview for a long winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Won't be able to post a new chapter today! So instead, I'll be posting a small excerpt of a future chapter [not necessarily the next one] :) 
> 
> I'll do this every time I can't meet the daily post deadline, with a message as to how long I think it'll take me to post the next chapter. 
> 
> Expect the actual chapter tomorrow :D Thanks for all your fine and friendly reviews...
> 
> and I'm sorry, because here comes a dose of angst for all y'all.

_This was how it was, when Bella grew older._   
  
_The crops failed, and a long winter seized the Shire, and goods were rationed within every smial and every hall. The Tooks built guarded storages to preserve their food, and meals were restricted to smaller portions, no more than a few bites, distributed into four meals rather than the usual six. The people of Hobbiton and most of the Shire did not starve, though the hobbits grew thin, frailer in the biting cold._   
  
_Many fell ill and died from fevers, and fauntlings were kept within their homes, their parents fearing that their children would catch chills and their constitutions would weaken before the winter let up._   
  
_Bella Baggins was not one of those fauntlings. She was a young lass now, and she would often stand outside, in the cold, her feet crunching snow as she looked on, over the once green hills. She preferred the white of the snow, for she knew that if the white was cleared, she would only see a dead brown and gray, for the crops would not grow til the winter swept away, snow or no snow._   
  
_They attended many funerals. A few young ones were taken by the cold. One of them, Bella recognized as the boy whose arm she'd bitten, defending Thorin's honor, when they were still small. His name was Corin, Corin Brandybuck, and Bella left him flowers which she'd been growing by the window, flowers that were much too rare in these days._   
  



	8. Bella the brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescue.
> 
> ... Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's still Saturday for some people, even if it's technically Sunday for me ;) Chapter's short! But things are rolling and cliffhangers (quite literally) abound. I was this close to putting it off another day, but I'm not sleepy, and I did promise.

They'd stopped a little ways down the road, hidden in the forest. Their prisoner was bound, tied round the mouth and hands, and soon legs when they had him strapped into one corner with leathers, to prevent his escape.   
  
These were, Thorin knew, the dwarves he'd met with a few days prior. They tricked him, as well as his sister, sending a letter to her concerning relations that did indeed exist, but were far away from Bree, traveling on the road between cities, unknowing of the evil that had been wrought with their name.   
  
"Will you kill me?" Thorin had asked earlier on, when they first ambushed him near the town.   
  
"Kill ye? Oh no, Master Oakenshield, not at all, exile-king. Even without yer mountain, you're a valuable asset and a hostage good as gold. Dependin' on how much gold your th' Longbeards're willing t'cough up fer ya."   
  
He fought them viciously, breaking at least two noses before one of them had the sense to knock him out. He woke to muttering, and too-tight bonds he could neither break nor cut. His weapons, he could see on the other side of the encampment, three dwarves gambling for a share. His pony was nowhere to be seen--he remembered reaching it when he tried to escape, only to be pulled down. It was a smart horse--it fled while the dwarrows were busy with him, probably back to the Shire, to its owners.   
  
He wondered if anyone would come looking for him. He dreaded the thought, for what could such gentlefolk do against such violent, dishonorable dwarves such as these?   
  
He was bleeding from the head, and he knew that the wound would grow worse if left untended. There was little hope of that--they wouldn't pay him any heed until he was in his death throes, his suffering not their concern meanwhile.   
  
He fell asleep, as dangerous as that was, because his unconsciousness did nothing to rid him of the exhaustion brought about by a day's ride and an unprecedented attack.   
  
He was told, at the inn he'd arrived at, to wait for his kin to return. It was noontime, and Thorin took no notice of the dwarves that had crept round the bend, to head him off at his pony in case he decided to run. It was a smart decision, much to Thorin's misfortune, when he first caught wind of the deception sometime in the early afternoon.   
  
He awoke from his bashing in the evening, when the moon was high above the trees, and he realized, if only briefly, that he would be late in returning to Bag End, and that he would be missed soon enough.   
  
At mid-morning, the dwarves who'd taken him seemed just about ready to leave, and by this time, Thorin had lost all hope of rescue. The rope burned his wrists where they scraped and squeezed, and he was feeling faint, though his blood had long since dried. His vision blurred, and if he wasn't so familiar with the movement, he might have not seen the faint gleam of gold in the bushes, or the rustle of a skirt that was of the same color as the leaves.   
  
Surreptitiously, he leaned back against the bark of the tree he'd been propped up against, feigning weakness (rather, exaggerating it, since his weakness was all too real). When he felt a gentle hand at his pale, blood-drained ones, he whispered between tight lips, "You shouldn't have come here."   
  
For once, the girl had nothing to say, instead attempting to free him of the ropes around his wrists.   
  
"Don't," Thorin whispered. "Just run. Just go. It's not safe for you here. If you must, find some guardsmen, or a ranger. I'm not going anywhere," he lied, knowing that the dwarrows were ready to move him to another place, safer for them and hidden from sight.   
  
He felt small hands release the ropes, and squeeze his, allowing blood to flow just a little freer. He forced his mouth shut, restraining himself from calling her back. It pained him, knowing that he'd just sent away what was likely his last hope of rescue. Knowing that this might be the last time he'd ever see the fauntling he'd grown so fond of, without even really seeing her face before she slipped back into the bushes.   
  
Still, he was comforted by the thought that, no matter what might happen to him, at least the little hobbit would be safe.   
  
This thought was chased away quickly, when he saw the same rustle of hair and skirt across from him, among the tied horses where the dwarves had loaded their goods. He resisted the urge to call out, as was his first instinct, knowing that he would only reveal her presence if he did.   
  
She went from pony to pony, looking for something, trying to reach for something. The ponies did not seem to be distressed by her presence--or perhaps they did not notice her at all. Either way, it didn't take long for her to disappear from view once more, and Thorin waited anxiously for about a minute before he heard her reemerge from behind him.   
  
He opened his mouth to scold her, ask her _why,_ why she didn't just _run,_ but the action died on his lips when he felt the cold touch of metal near his wrists, cutting through the rope that bound him in careful, uneven strokes. It got the job done, and halfway through the cutting, Thorin was able to free himself. He opened his palm behind his back, gesturing for the knife, which Bella handed over quickly. He spared a glance to the encampment, making sure no one was looking, then cut his feet free as well.   
  
He was nearly done when the first dwarf spotted him, murmuring a confused "Oi!" and then sounding an alarm when he saw Thorin snap right through the cut rope.   
  
"He's gettin' away!"   
  
Thorin then did the smartest thing he could in that situation:   
  
He ran.   
  
He broke into a sprint, snatching Bella right under his arm and breaking through the bushes to cut between the trees, some very angry dwarves (scum, the lot of them) trailing close behind.   
  
He broke branches and stumbled through clumps of leaves, holding Bella to his chest and protecting her from the brunt of the damage, other hand wielding the knife like he would a sword, using it to cut through the more difficult parts without hesitation.   
  
The other dwarves seemed reluctant to follow any further, worried that they'd get lost. Still, they were gaining, and Thorin could see more light up ahead, a break in the forest, perhaps a clearing--  
  
Only when he found himself looking at a steep, leading down to a roaring river, did he realize his dire mistake.   
  
"There he is!!!" he heard them call from behind.   
  
He had no time to mull it over--he had to make his decision or risk them both getting killed.   
  
"Bella," he said, desperation heavy in his tone, "dear heart, listen to me. Whatever happens, do **not** let go of me. Do you understand? You **will not** let go of me, no matter what."   
  
Bella nodded quickly, her eyes wide and fearful.   
  
And to the shock and ill fortune of the dwarves who had decided to turn the prince of the Durin line into a venture, their hostage, without a word or thought, jumped off the edge of the steep.


	9. Blood and Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In copious amounts.

  
Bella held on as tight as she could, arms around Thorin's neck but ultimately gripping his back from where she was, afraid that she might suffocate him otherwise.   
  
One arm returned to hold her, but she knew it wouldn't be for long, so she took this opportunity to relax her grip, burying her face in the blue of his clothing, telling herself not to look down.   
  
She whimpered when she heard the other dwarves nearing, and Thorin shushed her quietly, telling her to hold on with both hands as he did the same to the thick root he'd taken hold of, suspending them both above the raging currents of the river below.   
  
Thorin struggled to hold himself up, hoping to Aulë that the dwarves would leave them for dead and depart. He heard them from afar, muttering to themselves, deciding what their next course of action would be, and shifted his grip on the hard root, looking down at the golden curls resting beneath his chin. Without the freedom to do much else, he pressed his mouth against the top of the fauntling's head in a comforting gesture, to which Bella responded by holding tighter to the dwarf, breaths short and quiet.   
  
They waited for what seemed like ages, until the last of the noise died away, and when Thorin could neither hear nor sense any more movement coming from nearby, he nudged Bella with his chin and had her look up, meeting his eyes seriously. "Can you climb back up?" he asked.  
  
The hobbit nodded quickly.   
  
"Good, good girl. Here, up on my shoulders. Get up on that root, and take the next one up. You can grab hold of the ledge."   
  
Bella clambered up on his shoulders, balancing with her large feet as she wobbled over to the next jutting root, smaller, but just as thick as the one Thorin was using as his handhold. When she found her footing on the higher root, Thorin pulled himself up, as carefully as he could manage. He glanced up, watching the hobbit disappear over the safe side of the ledge, and reached for the next handhold.  
  
Finally, Thorin was able to pull himself up, ground earth muddying his clothes, but none worse for wear. In his anxiousness, he'd quite forgotten the scars on his wrists and ankles, though they throbbed now as he pushed up off his knees.   
  
The sight that greeted him made him wish he'd just let go the first time.   
  
"Clever enough, Master Oakenshield. Clever enough."   
  
It was the leader--flanked by two others, who stood before Thorin with a twisted grin, a look of triumph on his face and the hobbit lass at his side, restrained by the dwarf standing by him.   
  
"Ah-ah-ah! Not another inch, Durinson!" the leader warned as Thorin took a threatening step toward them. He had no weapon, save for the dagger in his belt, but he thought nothing of using it when he realized that there was a dagger on their side as well, held against Bella's throat in obvious warning. "We tried to be reasonable, didn't we? Recompense, was all we asked for. Recompense for what we lost because of you. The mountain we lost, because of your weakness. We would've let you go! But if you insist on being difficult, then..."  
  
The leader signaled with one flippant wave of his hand, and Thorin watched as the blade pressed into Bella's soft skin, near enough to draw blood, making the child cry out in fright.   
  
"No!" Thorin growled.   
  
"Aah, so you have a soft spot for this one, then?" The knife withdrew, but her captor held tight. "Now if you come with us quietly, no more games, no more attempts... We'll let her go free. Safe, perfectly unharmed."   
  
Thorin clenched his fists agitatedly, but it didn't take him long to speak again. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"   
  
"You don't," said the leader. "But if you refuse, you're well and sure enough that we'll slit this halfling's throat and splatter her blood all over your boots... but if you accept, at least she has a chance to go home on her own two hairy feet."   
  
There were tears streaming down Bella's cheeks, and she was hiccoughing through sobs, racking her quietly, like a horrid pantomime of a child afraid. She shook her head, or tried to, a brave gesture in itself, but no brave words came from her mouth, perhaps because all she expected she'd do was wail if she parted her lips for a moment.   
  
There was no question. Thorin could not let an innocent child suffer because of him.   
  
"Alright," he said. "Please, don't hurt her," he added, the finality of the situation weighing on his soul.   
  
The child was passed on to the leader as his lackeys came over to restrain Thorin, knocking him about for good measure, bruising and bleeding him like meat to be tenderized. He took it with as much dignity as he could muster, even as they stomped him into the dirt to tie his hands behind his back--tighter than before, tight enough that his hands were liable to fall off if it stayed for too long.   
  
When they went for his legs, every dwarf there was startled by a loud cry, and the leader doubling over in pain, blood covering his hand.   
  
Bella was on her feet in no time, kicking him in the knees, hard enough to make him fall over. One of the other dwarrows went after her, but Thorin used the opportunity to provide a kick of his own, all but shattering the man's shin with the force of it. The third, Thorin headbutted, charging with all his strength, knocking him into some broken rocks, into unconsciousness.   
  
Bella still had tears in her eyes, and blood smearing her mouth and cheeks, but she was, against all odds, smiling, the tight, hopeful smile of someone who was afraid, but triumphant. She ran over to Thorin, to help him cut his bonds a second time, only to be snatched up midway. Thorin cried out in Khuzdul, rolling off his back and swinging his arms under him, still tied but now in front of him, enough to reach the knife in his belt.   
  
The dwarf dragged Bella up by the collar, and Thorin ran towards them both, thanking Aulë that he had no more weapon, his fingers broken from Bella's attack. The gratitude, and the prayer with it, was short lived, as the dwarf heaved and threw the hobbit in the direction of the steep. Thorin watched in horror as she landed, her arms desperately grasping at nothing but grass until the momentum sent her over the edge.   
  
The loud splash that echoed over the roar of the water coincided with the feeling of his knife sinking into the leader's ribs. Thorin wasted no time, pulling the knife and sawing through his bonds, paying no mind to the scars he gave himself as he stumbled over to the edge of the steep, searching for the shimmer of gold hair in the river currents, spotting it already a little ways away, bobbing over the tide.   
  
And so the dwarf prince followed the hobbit child over the edge, two heads disappearing under the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE CLIFFHANGER :D


	10. A promise to keep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The promise to return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bit that's actually in the main summary :) The one you've all been waiting for! Drama! Oh my!
> 
> No cliffies this time xD I think you've all suffered enough. Thank you so much for all the supportive comments. We're nearing the end of the first arc and shall jump into the second, soon.

Sometime in the afternoon, when the sun glared down onto the green hills of the Shire, a singular, decidedly dwarvish figure, appeared on the riverbank a little ways away from Hobbiton, dragging himself with one arm while another clung to an even tinier figure, soaked to the bone and shivering violently in his arms.

It was no small stroke of luck when he found the pony he'd paid for the day earlier, waiting near the path, startled by the sudden appearance of the sodden dwarf and his precious cargo, but keeping still as he mounted, his tunic too thin to weigh him down as it clung to his skin.

They rode into the Shire to the shock of many, enough to rile up the entirety of Hobbiton, from East to West Farthing. He did not let them stop him for a moment, not that any of them made any real effort to, allowing him to go on until he reached Bag End. Belladonna rushed out to meet them, her hair flying in the wind as she took Bella from his hands and ran her into the house. Bungo helped him with the pony and bundled him in to dry by the fire. Belladonna had spirited Bella away to one of the rooms, for a change of clothes, drying her off and almost burying her in linens.

She was feverish, bedridden and weak, and though Belladonna said nothing of the blood on her clothes and the scars on Thorin's arms, her hard look spoke of much. He was all but locked out of Bella's room, when he'd come to check on her, guilt and worry weighing him down as he knocked on the wooden door.

He supposed the lack of an answer meant he wasn't welcome, and he couldn't blame her for a second.

Bungo was much kinder to Thorin, not that he believed he deserved it. He was given a cloak to wrap himself in while his clothes and boots dried, and he sat by the hearth, staring into the flames and remembering trees, like torches, and the loss of loved ones and friends in one day, leading to over a hundred years of wandering. 

He once believed fire was his enemy, but here he was, finding comfort in it from the cold.

Bungo fussed like the best of hobbits, asking after Thorin's scars and bringing out some herbs and bandages, washing his wounds and wrapping them, "before they would become infected and you wouldn't be able to wield that sword of yours anymore, master dwarf".

Thorin refrained from telling him that he'd lost his sword to the brigands who attacked him, and that he was able to repay them in kind by mortally wounding--perhaps even killing--their leader and two of their members. He said nothing of it, but the dark look that fell over his features quieted Bungo for a moment, wrapping Thorin's scars fastidiously.

"There, good as new," he said. "Don't think less of my wife for her discourtesy," he then went on, after he returned from packing the bandages away. "She's very distraught."

"I think nothing of the kind," Thorin said gruffly. "What I did was unforgivable. I placed her child in danger and brought her home scathed. For such an offense, I would have had my beard shorn among my own kin."

"You act as though you were the one who dragged her off to wherever you were," Bungo said, "which we both know is rather unlikely. If you would, though," he continued, slowing in his words and sounding ten times graver than his usual tone, "I'd like to know what happened."

Thorin nodded, telling Bungo of the events which led up to their falling into the river. Bungo looked horrified at the idea of his daughter facing brigands--Thorin knew he would feel just the same, if it were his own child. 

But Bella wasn't his child--far from it, which was why he'd done them a great disservice, encouraging her actions and getting her into trouble she never should have been involved it. 

It was hours later that Belladonna emerged from the room, her expression tight and withdrawn as she announced that Bella was asking for Thorin, and had requested (badgered and argued for hours on end, was more like it) to see him alone. 

Buried under the blankets, sweating off her fever, Bella looked so small. Thorin thought he'd be used to it by now, but even at her size, Bella had always been such a vibrant, larger-than-life figure, her energy making up for what she lacked in stature. Now, looking so frail and tired, Thorin felt as though she would shrink away into nothing if he continued to batter her spirit in this way. 

Slowly, he knelt beside the bed, watching as the same emerald green eyes which had startled him in the beginning fixed on his face, a smile gracing the halfling's pale lips. 

"I saved you," were the first words that passed between them, accompanied by a wry grin. 

"That you did," Thorin affirmed, his tone stiff. "You were very brave, and very foolish, to let yourself get hurt because of me." 

The roughness in his voice didn't seem to bother the fauntling in the slightest. 

"I wanted to," Bella said weakly and all too earnestly. 

Thorin's hand clenched on the overhanging sheet, his gaze lowering in shame. Misfortune seemed to follow him wherever he went, tainting all the good in his life, hurting those he lo--he cared about, driving away those who cared about him. 

Six days. He'd wanted to stay six days more, but now, he'd ruined everything with his stupidity. 

"I have to go," he said quietly. 

Bella's eyes widened, her hand seizing his before he could think of moving away. 

"Nooo..." she cried softly. "You can't!"

"I must. All I have done is put you in jeopardy, a mockery of recompense for all that you and your parents have done for me. I cannot endanger you any further."

"But you can't go! You promised! You said," she said, her tears welling quickly and thickly, "you said you wouldn't go until I asked for something. Until I asked for something in return."

"Then ask," Thorin said. "Ask me now." 

_"Stay."_

Thorin shook his head in response. "You know I can't," he said harshly. "I will leave eventually, better sooner than later. You would be better off, growing safe in this place, being happy. You would forget me quick enough." 

"No!" Bella cried, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks. "No I wouldn't!" 

"You would grow," Thorin continued. "Live your life quicker than I would reach old age. Hobbits don't last as long as dwarves. I would blink and you would be a young woman, and I would have no place in your life, and you would be intelligent enough to be rid of me." He wasn't sure now if he was talking to Bella, or reminding himself of his own real fears. "You would leave your childish fancies and prosper and marry and have a family, and I will continue to be an exile, a prince without a crown, to the end of my days, long after you would have passed away from old age. This is fleeting, and even you, in your youth, know it. Do not suffer for me, Bella Baggins, and do not let me suffer in the knowledge of what I know will come to pass." 

Bella had grown quiet, though her hand had found its way to Thorin's, clutching it tightly. The other one joined it, two little hobbit hands attempting to get around it, instead settling on the back of it, trying to emulate a larger, adult hand, in a gesture of comfort which encompassed his own. 

Her voice was soft, and her tears seemed to have stopped, when she said, "I never really wanted to be a princess." 

Thorin was startled, silenced himself by her words. 

"I never wanted to leave Bag End. Maybe I could go on an adventure or two, like Mama, but I'd always come home. I'd always come home because home is where the people I love are, warming beside the hearth and sitting on soft chairs and sleeping in soft beds and eating big meals, and I wanted you to stay because you were so sad, and I wanted you to be happy like Mama and Papa are happy. I just wanted to be a princess because you were a prince and I wanted to marry you because when you marry someone, that means they stay home beside the hearth and are always happy just because they're together. I don't want you to be sad again and to be out in the cold and so far away. That's why." 

Her voice shook, but she went on, and Thorin squeezed her hand as she did, his eyes looking on in wonder. 

"I know it's silly because I'm just a hobbit and hobbits don't get married to princes or go on adventures or fight orcs or save people, but a hobbit knows all about being happy, and that's a warm hearth, good food, and all the comforts of home. And even if I don't become a princess or marry a prince or do any of that stuff, it's okay. I just want you to be happy--oof!."

She started as she was pulled into a rough hug, warm and sweet and tight, and Bella relaxed against Thorin's shoulder. He was bending over enough for her to reach it, and she almost expected him to pick her up, though he didn't. 

"I will go," he said gently as he pulled away, hands on Bella's shoulders and looking her right in the eye. "I need to take care of my family. Of my people. But I have a promise for you, Bella Baggins, and you'd best remember it when I'm gone." 

Bella nodded, her eyes wide and attentive. 

"I promise," Thorin said solemnly, "to return to you. Many years from now, when you are older, when you are grown." He reached for one of the two braids that framed the sides of his face, right behind his ears, and pulled a shining clip from the left one, placing it in her hands. "I will return, and I will marry you," he said, "and pledge to return to you the happiness you have given me. I will restore my kingdom, take it back from the dragon that stole it from us, and when we of Erebor shall prosper once more, I shall shower upon you all the gold and jewels and riches of the mountain, for I can think of no one worthier than you, my little hero, my halfling." 

He pressed a sound, solemn kiss to her forehead, the fever still warm but no worse than it was, and he brushed the hair back from her eyes as they shone with trust and abject wonder. 

"Promise?" she said softly, asking for nothing more than a binding of her own. 

"On my life and my honor as a son of Durin," said Thorin, "I shall return for you." 

And Bella smiled softly, reaching up to press a similarly solemn kiss to his furrowed brow.

When Belladonna came at last to tuck her daughter into bed early, she wondered at the smile on the fauntling's face, and the little trinket she'd tucked under her pillow, but found relief as she felt Bella's fever breaking under a motherly hand to her brow. 

 


	11. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin's opinion on marriage is established, and a fortnight ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's late, and it's short, and I'm sorry ): Schoolwork caught me by the short hairs. But hey, LOOK, GUYS, ART! by Blue_Sparkle here on AO3
> 
> http://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/45603448218/younger-thorin-and-little-belladona-bilbo
> 
> It's beautiful ;_; 
> 
> Anyways, the chapter after this one is 90% written already, so it will definitely come on time tomorrow. Probably in the morning or afternoon, rather than evening, which I usually update at (for reference, my evening is GMT+8 aka Philippine time). 
> 
> Thank you so much for the continued support, even if my writing's slow and the idea's silly ^_^

Marriage was not something Thorin liked to think about. Ever since he was a child, he was regaled with horror stories of arrangements between royals, cousins marrying cousins to preserve the line, or something similarly unappealing. He envied the love stories exchanged by common folk, miners and craftsmen and the like, who spoke of finding their "one", the love that would last them until death. It was not something all dwarves experienced--many too focused on their craft, or on responsibilities, to see it done.  
  
That Thorin was taught from childhood that his own marriage, as crown prince, would be one that would require careful deliberation and the meddling of Erebor's royal advisors and much input from the heads of the Longbeard clan, did nothing to warm Thorin to the prospect.  
  
But since the dragon, since they began their wandering, forever a journey, with only stop overs and no real destination, Thorin forgot the prospect of being wedded to another dwarf, and no one thought ill of him for it. Even more so when Dis was married, giving birth to two heirs, fine children, sons of Durin who lived up to the name.  
  
He was surprised at Bella's confession.A confession of love, as it was, but not the kind that often accompanied marriage. It was the love of a pure heart, a love Thorin did not expect to find in his journey, rife with misfortune.  
  
The marriage she spoke of was one Thorin had not known of, not for a very long time. A marriage for the sake of happiness, rather than politics, of company rather than convenience.  
  
It was a silly notion, but the hobbit child had done him more honorably than many of his own kin had ever done. The request, however small, and decidedly childish, it was, did not seem so unreasonable.  
  
Marriage for him was such a small thing, after all, and he supposed he was blessed that she had not asked for anything more outrageous than that (though he had no doubt he would have given it to her, whatever else she might have thought to take).  
  
And if to Bella, marriage was simply keeping one's self warm and happy, in the company of loved ones, then should he not be thankful?  
  
He sat by the child's bed in the quiet of the morning, recounting his travels, the parts which were not too dire or dreary for a little girl.  
  
Time passed quickly in the household, for all that Thorin wished for it to slow.  
  
He'd promised her another three days, which stretched into four, and then a long morning before he knew he could linger no longer.  
  
She was out of bed by the third of those days, but was quiet, no longer dragging him around the Shire on made up adventures or fighting off imaginary orcs. Still, she seemed happy enough, content in finding them a quiet spot where Thorin would smoke and Bella would sit beside him, sometimes tucked under his arm and falling asleep, wherever they sat.  
  
She did the same in the evening, urging Thorin to keep himself warmed by the fire, knowing that he was on his way to cold nights on the road or noisy ones in an inn if he could spare it.  
  
The morning of his departure, Bella was busy helping her mother prepare food for him to bring along, three times the amount he expected to have for himself on his journey, enough that he could bring some home for his sister and her sons. He was almost sure they'd grown another few inches in the weeks he'd been gone, the way they'd been on when he left.  
  
He missed them. He missed his family, and the friends he'd left in the Blue Mountains. That was as little comfort as he could give himself when he was just about ready to depart, the little hobbit girl clinging to his leg as he loaded the last of his cargo onto his pony--bought and paid for, the very same one that had served Thorin well in his recent misadventure.  
  
Earlier in the day, he'd braided a carved bead into Bella's hair, set with a meager gem that, though not valuable in trade, was a hardy, beautiful thing. There it shone as he knelt to her level, bidding her goodbye and hugging her tightly, expecting tears where none came. He was glad to see her smile, one last time, before he bowed to Belladonna the older and Bungo Baggins, thanking them profoundly for all that they'd done.  
  
Even as he reached the hill, he heard Bella's last goodbyes, calling "I love you" between her farewells in a way that seemed to come all too easily to her. And though her parents didn't seem to think much of it, the words dug a hole deep into Thorin's heart, making it all the harder for him to leave.  
  
But eventually, he crossed the hill, and the border, and leave was exactly what he did.

  
\--

[](http://asparklethatisblue.tumblr.com/post/45603448218/younger-thorin-and-little-belladona-bilbo)

  
End of Arc 1


	12. Intermission 1: Far Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The far future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings:... future spoilers, I suppose, though it's much too vague to take anything substantial from. Also ANGST.
> 
> Took some of the first lines from the songs (both in the film and in the credits) but I made up the rest :) There are spoilers to the plot, but not at face value. Just like the credits in the film ;_; I cried listening to them because they are so. very. portentous. 
> 
> Forgive me for this.

The young hobbit lass was tucked lovingly beneath the covers, as she stared up with wide eyes, a striking, steel blue that gripped Bella's heart like a vise.

"Auntie Bella?" Froda murmured softly. 

"Yes, dear heart?" Bella responded. 

"Will you sing to me?" Froda asked cautiously. Granted, it was an odd request, and Froda knew as much about Bella as Bella knew about her niece, so she forgave the girl for thinking she was anything like her tight-wound relatives on the Baggins side. For the third time in two days, Bella thanked higher powers that Froda had gone to her, rather than to the nasty Sackville-Bagginses. She doubted the child would have survived their temperaments. 

"What would you like me to sing?" Bella asked kindly. 

"A lullaby," Froda said after pausing for thought. Her dark curls shifted against the sheets as she lifted them to her chin. 

"I'm afraid I don't know any lullabies," Bella said, shaking her head. "The last time someone sung me to sleep was when... was when..." 

_When she sat on her bed, listening to a soothing chorus of deep and solemn voices drift in from the hallway._

"Well, I'm sure I can come up with something," Bella said. 

"A dwarvish song?" Froda said, her eyes twinkling. 

Bella chuckled. "Yes, yes. A dwarvish song."

Froda lay back, eyes shining with anticipation as Bella began, the soft rasp in her throat easing with every verse. 

The words were her own, for the one she'd heard first had had its time, and its time was done, and the story to be told was different now.

 

_"Far over the Misty Mountains rise_

_The wings of eagles beyond the height_

_To fly us home beneath the stone  
_

_A place of warm and golden light.  
_

_They sang of fortune lost for years and years  
_

_They sang of mourning, long forgotten tears  
_

_They sang of love, of light above  
_

_And in the silence, sang of their fears  
_

_Far over the Misty Mountains old  
_

_They sang of lovers, their tale untold.  
_

_'We must away' one said one day  
_

_To leave the other in lonely cold._

_We must away until the day  
_

_I find you home..."  
_

_  
_She faltered, tears stinging in her eyes. Froda's eyes had fluttered shut, her breaths softening. She looked like--well, in truth, she looked like what Bella had never had, but had wanted for so long, in the depths of her heart.

_"To have and hold..."_


	13. Winter, part 1: Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so begins the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Winter" is the intermission between arcs one and two, and will reference the Fell Winter from Tolkien's history.

This was how it was, when Bella grew older.   
  
The crops failed, and a long winter seized the Shire, and goods were rationed within every smial and every hall. The Tooks built guarded storages to preserve their food, and meals were restricted to smaller portions, no more than a few bites, distributed into four meals rather than the usual six. The people of Hobbiton and most of the Shire did not starve, though the hobbits grew thin, frailer in the biting cold.   
  
Many fell ill and died from fevers, and fauntlings were kept within their homes, their parents fearing that their children would catch chills and their constitutions would weaken before the winter let up.   
  
Bella Baggins was not one of those fauntlings. She was a young lass now, and she would often stand outside, in the cold, her feet crunching snow as she looked on, over the once green hills. She preferred the white of the snow, for she knew that if the white was cleared, she would only see a dead brown and gray, for the crops would not grow til the winter swept away, snow or no snow.   
  
They attended many funerals. A few young ones were taken by the cold. One of them, Bella recognized as the boy whose arm she'd bitten, defending Thorin's honor, when they were still small. His name was Corin, Corin Brandybuck, and Bella left him flowers which she'd been growing by the window, flowers that were much too rare in these days.   
  
The Shire was well-guarded, because the cold was not their only enemy. There were men who, in their desperation, had taken to thieving, and more still--bandits of ill repute--would raid villages and take their food.   
  
Some bandits settled on the fringes of the Shire, hiding in the forests like rats, waiting to strike when they thought would be most convenient.   
  
Bella headed them off, quietly creeping into campsites and ruining their tools, hiding their weapons and making it seem like there were wild animals that made the place too inhospitable. She pretended so for a number of days, until there was no more need to pretend, for when she returned to the camps one morning, she found it abandoned, and stepped on what she thought was a thick old bedroll, but turned out to be a body, frozen into the earth, missing an arm and caked with dry blood.   
  
She stopped going off on her own after that.   
  
"And then a noise, like a hurricane, descended upon the city of men," Bella said, watching as the children's eyes grew wide, reflecting the light of the dancing fire in the fireplace of Brandybuck hall. "And there he was, blowing flames into the trees and crashing through stone houses! It was Smaug, the dragon!" The younger ones startled, gasping loudly enough for the adults, sitting at the tables, to shush them.   
  
"He was a fire drake from the north," Bella continued, her voice lowered, letting the younger ones lean close. "And like all dragons, he lusted after gold. Gold, which Erebor had in mountains, piling up higher than all the hills and smials here in Hobbiton. Mountains of gold under a mountain of rock--riches beyond imagining!"  
  
"That's impossible," exclaimed young Drogo Baggins. "There can't be that much gold in one mountain."  
  
"Well Erebor wasn't just the mountain," Bella explained patiently. "The kingdom extended further below that, miles under the height of the mountain, in tunnels hewn from rock and--"  
  
"Bella, come on now! We have to get back before nightfall!" Belladonna called tiredly. In her hand, she held a bundle of medicinal herbs, and Bella offered to carry it as they went on her way.   
  
The snow crunched deliciously under her feet, and chilled her only slightly as she ran ahead, stopping at intervals to wait for her mother.   
  
When she was young, Belladonna used to run right after her, and would challenge Bella when she threw snowballs in her mother's face. They would often come home wet, Belladonna the older and the younger, soaked to the skin from the welcome snow.   
  
Even as she grew older, Belladonna had always smiled at her antics, encouraging her to have fun, even in graver times.   
  
It seemed that times were too grave now for even that, and Bella found it a victory when she saw her mother smile, however thinly, when she turned around again.   
  
More and more did Bella begin to resemble her mother, her golden hair growing long and her eyes twinkling with the same spark her mother had in her youth. She was growing beautiful, near her tweens, and some boys had already expressed an interest in her. She told them nothing of why she refused the lot, though she braided the bead into her hair every day, and only her closest companions in childhood had the nerves to guess, though they never spoke of it aloud.   
  
It helped her case, she supposed, that she cared nothing for the romances and dalliances the other lasses her age made such a fuss about. She'd made her mind up long ago, and the time others took worrying about their futures with a significant other, Bella spent in her studies, and listening to her mother's stories about Elves, and other such folk that could be found outside their borders.   
  
"Do you think we'll ever see elves?" Bella asked one night, the three Bagginses wrapped up in blankets, bedrolls set in front of the hearth fire.  
  
"Not in the Shire," Belladonna had responded. "Certainly not in this cold, anyway."  
  
"Maybe when spring thaws Hobbiton," Bella joked. "What do you think, papa?"   
  
Bungo did not answer, though Bella assumed he was still awake, since she didn't hear him snoring like he usually did.   
  
"Papa?" Bella repeated, rolling over to look at her father's form.   
  
"Darling?" Belladonna said, resting a hand on his arm.   
  
"Hm," Bungo answered slowly, his voice soft. "I think... if ever there were elves who came to visit the Shire, our little Bella would drag them here first, is what I'm sure of."   
  
Bella laughed at the answer, nudging her papa with her elbow.  
  
It wasn't until she was laying awake, the fire dimming and the cold settling back in, that she realized how weak Bungo sounded.


	14. Wolves in the winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing but the sound of danger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Thank you for all your patience! I'm afraid you'll have to suffer through the intermission a bit longer, but hey, it'll get more interesting :) 
> 
> 2) I'm adding a pairing in two chapters--just implied, but it's a rare pair, and I may make a side story about that someday. 
> 
> 3) Now back to our regularly scheduled updates!

"Dellie! Brandy! Freddie! Get back here this instant!" Bella called, sighing as the fauntlings rushed over the snowbanks to get away from her. 

She wasn't made for responsibility, as often as she took it. It seemed that her Baggins blood had little to offer when it came to controlling rambunctious little hobbit children. She wondered how her parents ever could have handled her in her youth. Briefly, she wondered how Thorin felt about her antics, in the fortnight he'd spent watching her. 

Adelaide, Adelbrand, and Branfred were Brandybucks, three of the most rambunctious in the lot. They were the most enthusiastic when it came to Bella's visits to Brandy hall, and were quickest to sit around her when she told them stories about elves, dwarves, and men who were heroes that vanquished orcs, goblins, dragons, and other such evils. Their favorite tale was that of Erebor and the dragon, the one Bella liked best, because it was a story that Thorin had told her, a story about him that reminded her on quiet nights about his gallantry. 

Often they played a game that had become popular among the young ones: Dwarves and dragons. 

Everyone always wanted to be a dwarf. Bella sometimes took on the role of the dragon, speaking riddles to baffle them, though for the most part, she was given the role of watcher, ensuring that every child was accounted for and that they would come back before dark, when the cold became more biting than it was in the morn. 

Today was darker than usual, and she couldn't see it when the sun passed over the hill, because the sun hadn't shown since noon, between the thick of dreary gray snow clouds. It was later than she realized, the snow-covered field gray as the sky from where the flakes fell. She could feel the chill seeping between her toes, a sure sign that it was much too inhospitable for any sensible hobbit to be out and about. 

"Come on, you three!" she called insistently. "We have to get you back to the hall before dark." 

"Will you stay wiv us, Miss Bella?" Freddie asked. 

"Stay the night, Miss Bella! Tell us some more stories from your dwarf friend!" Dellie urged, coming up to Bella's side and taking her hand obediently. Freddie took the other while Brandy went ahead, the oldest of the three and twice as expectant, clearly believing that Bella would stay without being asked. 

Foolish boy, Bella mused. 

When they arrived at the bridge, Bella cast a doubtful gaze over the river, frozen solid from the long, bitter cold. In the mornings, the children liked to skate on the surface, delighted by how the long winter had brought them at least one blessing among a multitude of curses they knew less about. 

This was one of the consequences of adulthood--Bella was more worried than she was delighted, and was too distracted by her worries to enjoy the snow like she might have. 

It was getting much too dark now. Fortunately, there was no snowfall, but that would not prevent the cold from taking them before they reached the hall. 

She hurried the three over the bridge, looking around warily. 

She heard it, clear and cutting, when they reached the other side. 

"Hurry," she urged. "Hurry!" 

It was a growl, a growl she knew from her time outside the Shire's borders. There were many wolves around Bree, but the river had always... 

The river. 

"Come on," Bella said. "We have to get you home." 

They arrived at the hall without incident, but the night had overtaken them, and Bella had to warn the Brandybucks about the growling, the wolves on the far side of the river who may just as likely have crossed the freeze. 

They would deal with it in the morning, they said. For now, she would be safe in the hall, lying in a bedroll by the fire. 

Until deep evening, Bella lay awake, fiddling with the single braid in her hair and the bead at the end of it. It gleamed in the last vestiges of her consciousness, but when the darkness took her, the last thing she heard was the deep growl of wolves that, by rights, should never have come near the Shire.


	15. Talk of wolves and wizards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Much deliberating to be had, and a trip down memory lane.

The commotion in the morning stirred the Shirefolk in a manner that Bella had never seen.   
  
She didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse that she didn't know the deceased.  
  
One of the late night watchmen was found near the water, torn to pieces by some animal. It took three Tooks, two Brandybucks, and a Bracegirdle to take the body away--however much of the body there was to take away. Bella saw it being carted off, and though she did not faint, or lose her first breakfast, like many of the others did, sheer terror washed down her spine in ice cold buckets, her hand shaking as she clutched her heart with her right hand and her braid with her left.   
  
There was a meeting which ran through second breakfast and luncheon, where the Thain and the heads of every clan discussed the incident. There were a few who said that there was nothing to fear, but Bella could see that they were the most afraid.   
  
Bungo and Belladonna found their daughter in the Thain's hall, and Bella hugged them tight, breathing in the pipe weed scent clinging to her father's clothes and kissing her mother many times on both cheeks, assuring them she was quite safe, that she'd spent the night with the Brandybucks, and that she'd spent the morning making sure all the children stayed in their houses, before serving luncheon for the long meeting and using it as an excuse to listen to the deliberations.   
  
Her mind worked through their proposed solutions, suggesting in a level tone between arguments and shouts that they call for help from the men of Bree, since they were used to the presence of winter wolves in their area, in a way the Shirefolk--protected by the river until now--were not.   
  
"To ask help from outsiders? In such a time? They would ask for recompense--empty our coffers and our storages. We would starve before this fell winter passes," said one of her Baggins cousins.   
  
"We are not starving now," Bella said, pointing out their meals. "We can reduce our daily meals to the three men usually take. It would give us an allowance depending on what the men of Bree would ask, to assist us in our troubles."   
  
"She has a point," said one of the Proudfoots (Proudfeet, Bella amended in her head), nodding sagely at the suggestion.   
  
"True enough," said the Thain, an older Took who was held in high regard, especially in trying times such as this. "But Miss Belladonna the younger is not officially part of this meeting, unless someone is willing to give her a chair."   
  
There was a long silence, and Bella stood stock still, flustered by all the attention that was placed suddenly on her.   
  
Finally, Bodo Proudfoot stood up, gesturing for Bella to take his seat. "For the braided lady," he quipped quietly as she sat down. "Do us proud, my girl."   
  
"If we may proceed," said the mayor, a jolly-faced man who had no business looking so grim. Bella nodded, and the discussion resumed.

-  
  
"We could send a letter to Gandalf," said Belladonna as they tucked into their late lunch.   
  
"That wizard of yours?" said Rudy Bolger from across the table.  
  
"He's not my wizard," Belladonna said. "He's a wizard, and comes and goes as he pleases. His visits are a courtesy to old ties."   
  
"Well what more a courtesy to you than to assist when he's needed?"   
  
Bella slipped in beside her mother, eyes wide as she took in the conversation. "Could he really come around?" she asked.   
  
"Perhaps," Belladonna said. "But he's not given to fighting off wolves. At least, as far as I know."  
  
"Well, who knows what those wizards get up to in the world of the big folk?"   
  
"I certainly don't," Belladonna said, and Bella wondered at her tone. Almost resentful.  
  
"What about that adventure?" Bella asked.   
  
"Adventure?"   
  
"Papa told me. He said Gandalf brought you away on an adventure a long time ago. When you were young."   
  
"Ah," Belladonna murmured. "That adventure."   
  
"You never told me," Bella said cautiously. "About the adventure."  
  
"I've told you about the elves," Belladonna said.   
  
"Yes, you did."   
  
It was quiet, for a while, as they ate their fill--less of their fill, of course, given the rationing--but Belladonna, after wiping her mouth, continued.   
  
"It was one adventure," she said. "A small one. I was young, a little beyond my tweens, and Gandalf was visiting my father. Your Old Took and his fireworks, of course. Gandalf brought them for his birthday."  
  
Bella nodded.   
  
"Two days after, when he was ready to leave, he asked me if I was interested in going on an adventure," Belladonna continued slowly. "Which was a surprise. Not that Gandalf would ask--but that he would ask me. I was--I am the ninth child in a large family, the first of three daughters, certainly not the choicest of Tooks to bring away. I was considerably more subdued than my siblings, being the first daughter. I was to be married to a Baggins. The Took 'wildness' was not in me like it was my brothers. But he chose me."  
  
"He must have seen it," Bella said.   
  
"Seen it?"  
  
"The spirit in you," Bella clarified. "And I'm sure your good looks didn't hurt either," she joked, earning herself a jab in the side and a playful smile from her mother, the first one of its kind she'd seen in a while.   
  
"He must have thought you were very pretty," Bella said musingly.   
  
"He did, at that," Belladonna agreed. "Told me so in that way of his, where he observes everything in the world and takes pleasure in its kinder truths." She paused.  
  
"He said something to me when we were traveling. He said that, of all of my father's children, I had the most promise." Her tone was wistful, and her eyes far away, and it got Bella to thinking. "Silly, isn't it? By his assurance, I was remarkable. Among men and elves, I was anything but. I didn't do much, you know. It wasn't a proper adventure. I just... observed, and was observed in turn, because hobbits don't often venture out of the Shire. I was just along for the ride, and what a ride it was."  
  
"I don't think Gandalf would have chosen you if you weren't remarkable," Bella said with almost childlike certainty.   
  
"Oh no," Belladonna said. "That's not it."   
  
"Then what?" Bella pressed.   
  
Belladonna sighed, her tired eyes looking beyond anything Bella could see. From her periphery, she saw her father fall out of general lunchtime conversation and listen into theirs.   
  
"He said that I was a comfort to him," Belladonna murmured. "For as long as I could be. That I could see what my brothers and sisters never could." She turned to Bella, stroking the gold of her hair. "That my heart loved more fiercely than any he'd ever seen, which was why he couldn't keep me. That surely, my children would have the same strength in their hearts." Belladonna smiled, her hand drifting down to press against the right side of Bella's chest. "He was never very good with numbers, and didn't account for my weakness... but he was right. I am grateful that the one child I have is everything I ever could have dreamed in a daughter."  
  
Bella smiled, clutching her mother's hand. Over her shoulder, Bungo kissed Belladonna's cheek, and the two older Bagginses slipped away from the council while Bella remained to deliberate.   
  
Later, the young hobbit lass took quill to paper and began writing, in clear, orderly letters, to send off with the next trade wagon, which was to come within the fortnight.   
  
"Do you know where he might be?" she asked her mother later in the evening.   
  
"Who?"  
  
"Gandalf."   
  
"Well I expect he'd be anywhere he pleases," she said. "But he does have this way of being exactly where he's needed."  
  
That didn't help anything with whatever address Bella was hoping to note down. But given Belladonna's words, Bella decided to have it addressed to the tower hills, near the sea, where she knew the Grey Havens were said to be. Gandalf, after all, was known for his friendship with elves, and that was the closest Bella could think of that a merchant might deliver.   
  
She slept with the envelope at her bedside, ready to be sent out, and found comfort in the idea of a wizard to solve their problems for good--at least until the end of their long and arduous winter.   
  



	16. Fell wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White wolves, black riders, red blood and gray wizards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long! I had to reassess the story pace. Instead of the original plan, I had to skip a few story ideas and go straight to the Middle-Earth historically accurate event of the Rangers, Gandalf, and the white wolves. 
> 
> Thank you for your patience. 
> 
> Updates will no longer be daily, but I will strive for at least three or four updates a week :)

The wolves descended on the Shire on the fifth day after the first kill. It was late in the evening, and many were awoken by the sound of screams, and the heavy tramp of hobbit feet running across the snow.   
  
Bella was out the door before Belladonna could get up and before Bungo could make a move to stop her. She took with her a spade from the garden, a large one that their gardener had left that day, and she saw the white fur under the moon, chasing down two figures along the road.   
  
"Over here!" she screamed, her heart pounding in her ears as she held the spade with both hands. She watched one of the hobbits lose his footing, and closed her eyes to what happened next. The scream she heard was not her own, but that of the other hobbit--one of the tweens who she knew frequented the Green Dragon. He was a drunkard, easily, though his eyes were clear with fright as he tried to escape, the wolves too busy with their catch to heed him.   
  
He stumbled into Bagshot row, searching frantically for protection, finding it when he saw Bella gesturing for him to come.   
  
She took him by the collar and dragged him past the gate, her hand clutching the shovel with purpling fingers. She heard the howl of the white wolves but did not look back as she locked the gate, and then the door behind them.   
  
She had her back to the door for hours, listening for the growls right along the road. They went on til morning, and only when the sun was finally streaming through the windows did the hobbits emerge from their houses.   
  
Bella found the remains, and the boy she'd saved dry heaved into the perennials.   
  
She sent the letter off that afternoon, traveling to the border of East Farthing to bring it to messengers on horseback. One brought the letter away, to the gamble of a place Bella had addressed it to, hoping that it would reach Gandalf, wherever he might be. A second messenger rode off in the direction of the Blue Mountains, carrying a letter addressed to a dwarven settlement along its mines.   
  
And she waited.   
  
The waiting was filled with grief, for the wolves came down every night, and soon they were emboldened enough to travel by early morning, until the sun was high at noon.   
  
Bella saw little of the children now. They were kept within their houses, or within the largest halls. All Brandybucks younger than their thirties were kept within the hall, locked and bolted and heavily guarded from sunset to sunrise and well beyond the morning.   
  
Bella went as far as her backyard, swinging the garden hoe like a sword, always within sight of her mother.   
  
Both Bungo and Belladonna had forbidden her from leaving Bag End before the afternoon, and even then, there was the ever-looming danger of the white wolves moving over the snow, often mistaken for a trick of the light. She was strongly against this; Bungo's illness, which had never really gone away in the winter chill, was slowly worsening. For many days, Bella had cajoled and coerced until her throat was dry, begging her mother to let her fetch her father's medicine from Brandy Hall.   
  
A week later, when Bungo took to high fever, Belladonna did not leave his side. Bella was out the door before her mother even noticed, running out the door and down the road.   
  
It was a ghost town, from Bagshot Row all the way down to the bridge. In her hand, Bella had the garden hoe, a weapon for someone who had none that doubled as her walking stick. Once or twice, she thought she saw a flicker of movement along the white hills, but so far, she was doing fine.   
  
Just fine.   
  
When she reached the bridge, she thought she saw black specks on the far road, coming toward the Shire at a rapid pace. Not knowing whether they were friend or foe, but sensing the urgency of their approach, Bella took off at a run, the hall far off but within her sights.   
  
The white streaks cut her off halfway down, the wolves cornering her from five sides, two in front of her and three aside, one of them moving behind her when she stumbled back.   
  
They growled, hesitant when she swung her arm out and the hoe with it, the business end threat enough for the gathering pack.   
  
She let out a cry, something like half a roar, advancing enough that the ones in front of her began to step back, showing their teeth and snapping at her makeshift weapon.   
  
"Oh please," she whispered, a prayer to some invisible force, some luck or god that might deliver her from this. She was a fool, soon to be a dead fool, and there was no one to help her. And even if there were, she doubted anyone would be brave enough to see her saved from five wolves the size of ponies.   
  
She thought, briefly, of a time long past, of a child claiming she could fell orcs and wargs with a swing of an imaginary sword, and she remembered, just as the wolves behind her seemed to find their courage and move closer to her exposed back.   
  
She swung low and hard, the sharp edge of the garden tool catching at the legs of two wolves, slicing difficultly through fur and flesh and sending hot red splashes onto the snow. The white wolves yelped, falling back and limping, any weight on their injured paws too tender to place.   
  
She turned, quickly, setting herself out of the circle, swinging the garden hoe and sending the others back, newly afraid of this little creature they'd meant to make a meal of.   
  
And with that, Bella turned, and she ran, as fast as her furred feet could carry her, to the hall, shouting as she did.   
  
She had almost arrived at the barred doors when something white and large charged her, bringing her down into the thick cold of the snow. From there, she could feel the movement of the earth, like a quake--impossibly small, but enough to shake stone.   
  
She felt the hot breath of the wolf that bore down on her, its jaws parting in an attempt to pick her up. She rolled, trying to get back onto her feet, only to be brought down again by a heavy paw on her skirts, holding her down as the wolf grabbed ahold of her.   
  
The teeth dug into her sides, though their grip was softened by the thick of Bella's winter clothes, her frock and coat the only things standing between her and mastication--for the moment, in any case.   
  
She tried to struggle, tried to grab for the handle of the garden hoe, but her movements only dug the wolf's teeth deeper, ripping through cloth and scratching skin.   
  
She screamed, as ineffectual as that was, but she felt the ground shake even from the jaws of the wolf and she saw the black figures coming closer, and she realized that what she'd seen were riders--man-sized, riding on steeds taller than the wolves, larger and infinitely more terrifying.   
  
The horses galloped over the bridge, rearing as the wolves began to scatter. The ones that tried to retaliate were struck down by long swords, and the hooded riders who wielded them did not even need to dismount to fight.   
  
Bella was dropped, regaining her breath as she fell to the snow, blood streaming from the wounds in her sides. They weren't deep, but she just as likely might have cracked a rib under the strain of the white wolf's jaws.   
  
The same wolf was knocked away several feet by--as much as Bella could make out--a wooden staff, mottled on the end, affixed with a stone.   
  
Her vision blurred, and only then did she realize how much blood she was losing, the red staining the snow and mixing with the blood of wolves.   
  
She saw her bead, shining in the red snow, disappearing beneath the sweep of an old gray robe.   
  
She looked up, and through the glare of the midday sun saw a towering figure with a long beard and a pointed hat, right before she was picked up, gently, and carried away from the carnage that scattered red-stained, white-furred bodies across the snow. 


	17. End of Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Bella Baggins is made anew and foolishness is forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter for Winter. Next comes the beginning of Arc 2, An Unexpected Party.

"I don't know what to do, Gandalf."  
  
She felt a warmth wreathe her, a large and gentle hand hovering over her face.   
  
"Her heart doesn't belong in the Shire, for all that I've tried to keep it here."   
  
The pain in her sides eased as the hand traveled down, never really touching her, its presence known to her all the same.   
  
"I know she has the wanderlust," said an alien voice, warm and old and good despite its strangeness. "But it is the same as it was with you. She simply needs an adventure, even a small one, to soothe her--"  
  
"Adventure!? Don't you speak to me about adventures, Gandalf, not now! Running away from home, almost getting herself killed? I think that's adventure enough for one lifetime!"   
  
"My dear Belladonna--"  
  
"No, Gandalf, you don't understand! She's not like me. Her heart is not in the Shire. She's given it away, far away, and now she's doing everything she can to chase it down."   
  
She drifted back out of consciousness, conscious of the crackle of the hearth fire near her.   
  
She thought she dreamt of a mountain.   
  
Perhaps it was the fire, but she felt the sweat on her brow and along her neck as she plunged into the dark of it. The heat was cloying, and she stood on uneven ground. Only when the light of torches gave her sight did she realize that she was standing on piles of gold, mountains upon mountains of them.   
  
And she saw a dragon--it couldn't have been anything but--rearing up and breathing flame, hot smoke coming out of its nostrils.   
  
And it looked at her with its slit-eyes, and she saw her reflection in them--tired, old, afraid, and alone, holding a sword in one hand and a golden ring in the other.   
  
When she awoke, she remembered nothing of this dream, but realized belatedly that she'd lost Thorin's wood-and-crystal bead, probably somewhere in the snow.   
  
Quietly, alone in her room, she cried, for the first time since Thorin left so many years ago.   
  
  
  
"A dwarf, you say?" Gandalf repeated, his eyes wide over the length of his pipe.   
  
"Yes. He claimed himself a prince. I don't know enough about dwarf royalty to confirm it, and you tell me that royalty is common enough for the closeness of their kin, but I believed him. He was injured, along the bywater, and Bella got it in her head to drag him all the way back home. A fortnight, he stayed here. He was set upon by bandits, or as I understand it, other dwarves of a less than savory nature, and Bella, the foolish child that she was, thought she might stage a rescue."  
  
"And?"  
  
"And she succeeded," Belladonna said, a bitter grimace on her face. "And nearly got herself killed. For a dwarf she'd only known for a few days. Eru knows, she thought so highly of him, even when all he did was put her in danger. Or perhaps because he put her in danger. More likely, that," she added wistfully.   
  
"I seem to recall a very similar hobbit lass with a penchant for getting into situations with certain dangerous folk," Gandalf said pointedly.   
  
"Elves, a few Men, and a crotchety old traveler with some conjurer's fire tricks, now what danger was there in that?" Belladonna joked.   
  
"Well, I never!"   
  
"I'm joking, Gandalf," Belladonna said, granting him a fond smile. It slipped quietly from her face with a small sigh, as she watched the shapes emerge from the smoke from Gandalf's pipe.   
  
"I'm just afraid. I had my adventure, and then I chose to live the rest of my life in peace with the hobbit I love and a home that shall stand for as long as there is a Baggins," Belladonna murmured. "But Bella's heart is not in the Shire, not like mine. There is someone she loves already, and she never stopped. I don't think she'll ever stop."   
  
"Hrm. And what was his name, pray tell?" Gandalf inquired. "This dwarf you speak so highly of?"   
  
"Highly?" Belladonna snorted. "Hmph. I don't even remember his name, to be honest. Bella would. She keeps wearing this bead..."  
  
"Bead?" Gandalf startled.   
  
"A bead, in a braid, in her hair," Belladonna said. "A gift from the dwarf himself. She never goes without it."   
  
"A bead. Well now, that is... fascinating. Very fascinating."   
  
Belladonna raised a slender brow. "What's fascinating?"   
  
"Beads for dwarves always have some great significance. But I confess I did not see it on her when I healed her from the breaks in her bones. Perhaps it was lost in the fray."  
  
"In the... Gandalf, if it hadn't been for you, I would have lost my only daughter." Belladonna's tone was low, matter of fact, and she stared into the fire as if she intended to take something from it. "How did you even know to come?"   
  
"I would have come sooner," Gandalf said sadly. "But there are many places which have been affected by these harsh climes. Your daughter sent me a letter."   
  
"Ah."  
  
"Bella has your spirit."  
  
"How I wish she didn't," Belladonna sighed. "How I wish she would be a proper Baggins, like Bungo had always hoped she might be. He never resented her for her Tookishness, but he saw before I ever could that it would only bring her to trouble. I don't want to lose my baby, Gandalf. Not as long as I'm alive."  
  
Unbeknownst to them, Bella stood at the threshold between her room and the hall. She heard her mother's last words. And this time, her hair unbraided and her side marked with scars of her foolishness, she took them to heart.   
  
Before Gandalf left the Shire, he traced his steps back to where they'd slain the white wolves, and in the snow, he found a bead carved of wood and crystal, stained with blood.   
  
He spoke to Bella, who lay in bed, her face gaunt and her hair undone. She looked at him with empty eyes, and asked about her father.   
  
"He has his medicine," Gandalf said. "And he is resting, as you are. The cold has taken a great toll on him. But I have always found Bungo Baggins to be ever enduring, and it will take more than a small bout of weakness to do him ill."   
  
"I didn't do anything. I only brought my family more pain," Bella said softly.   
  
"There is no blaming yourself," Gandalf said. "You did what you thought was right, despite the danger, which is more than I can say for many I have met in my time. You are just as remarkable as your mother."   
  
"I don't want to be remarkable," Bella said, tears gathering at her eyes. "I don't know why I was so foolish. I'm not a child anymore."   
  
"No, you are not," Gandalf agreed. "You are old enough to make your own decisions. Far be it from me to tell you otherwise. But tell me, before I go off to see to the Rangers I gathered with me here... tell me the name of the dwarf who gave you this."  
  
From his sleeve, between two fingers, he showed her the bead, and in the candle light it shone, its spark bringing a glint back to Bella's eyes. But quick as it had appeared, it was gone.   
  
"I don't remember anymore," Bella said, a lie of great finality which Gandalf could read in her empty eyes. "It doesn't matter now."   
  
"I see. Regardless, it is still yours to keep."   
  
"I don't want it," Bella said stubbornly.   
  
"Perhaps not," Gandalf said. "But it is yours, all the same."   
  
He left it on the nightstand, bidding Bella his last farewells.   
  
"I shall linger a bit longer in the Shire," he said. "I've arranged for the Rangers of the North to deliver food. I hear you are short of it."   
  
"Yes," Bella said, her eyes becoming much clearer now. "Yes. You must arrange it with the Thain. The winter is long yet, and provisions are needed."  
  
"I hear that you are very much the authority on the subject," Gandalf said agreeably. "As practical as they said you would be."   
  
"No more foolishness from me," Bella said with certainty. "No. Certainly not now. I shall... I shall see to the payment."   
  
"Oh, now, kindnesses need no payment."  
  
"But trades do," Bella said. "I shall look into the numbers. I need something to do, after all. Something better suited to me. Something less foolish."   
  
"Hrm. Well, if you think it best."   
  
"I do," Bella said, nodding, the smile returning to her face as the bead lay forgotten on the side table. "I really do."   
  



	18. An Unexpected Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I claim that the next chapter is this then it turns out to be the other thing.

  
Bungo Baggins succumbed to illness when Bella was a few years beyond her tweens. At thirty six, she had become even more beautiful, her dark gold hair always perfectly coiffed, and she was infinitely more refined than she had been in her wild youth. She became a proper Baggins lady, more interested in practical things, such as in the finances of the household and keeping records for decisions made in council by the Thain, Mayor, or agreed upon by the heads of every family.   
  
She took to handling much of the trade that came in and out of the Shire, using her father's name to circumvent questions about her age and gender, which (to her inconvenience) put her capability into question.   
  
One thing that her peers did not find improved in her was her complete lack of interest in any of the comings and goings of courtship. Many hobbit lasses her age were eligible for marriage, and many hobbit lads were ready and willing to snatch up a good wife.   
  
Bella Baggins, with her good standing and family name, her rich household, and her beauty and vitality, would have been the perfect wife. But what was once an interest in a long-ago love had become concern for her father's well-being (and her mother, after his passing), finances and trade, the keeping of her garden, and many other things that had nothing to do with her fast going-youth.   
  
She was forty four years old when her mother died of grief, sitting by the hearth fire and looking into it with dull, lifeless eyes. That night, Belladonna the younger tucked herself under her mother's arm and rocked them both to sleep, remembering Belladonna the elder's words concerning love and the hearth.   
  
When she awoke, her mother was no longer breathing, and the hand that held hers had begun to stiffen. There was still warmth in her when Bella ran from the house, but whether it was from Bella herself, or a sign that her mother had died so recently before her waking, Bella never dared to ask.   
  
From then on, she threw herself more into her work. She made herself a name--Bilbo, Bilbo Baggins--used to sign official documents and to skip over any questions of her gender, seeing as folks on the outside found it cause to obstruct her when she was so busy with notes and numbers.   
  
She quickly became an old bachelorette, known very much for being the only woman her age who was not married in the Shire. And in all honesty, she quite enjoyed the title.   
  
She was respected, and she was respectable, and that brought her more satisfaction than any marriage ever could.   
  
Not that she had any mind for marriage. No. She had never been quite so inclined. Not since...  
  
No. She simply had no interest.   
  
She was quite content sitting by the fire of the hearth, of her home. It reminded her of her parents, whose pictures now hung over the mantel, in the warmest and most life-filled place of the house, where they belonged.   
  
She liked to smoke, which was an oddity for women, let alone women her age. She used her father's pipe. The smell clung to her clothes, and it made Bag End feel much more like a home.   
  
She was at peace, and she decided she quite liked for it to stay that way.   
  
If it wasn't for the little bead in the little box in the locked room in her home, she decided, she probably would have stayed that way forever.   
  
-  
  
Today, she was wearing trousers, for the sole purpose of raising her legs on the laid out bench in front of her home. It was a very good morning indeed, cool yet warm, cloudy yet bright, and she decided that she would spend it outside with her father's pipe.   
  
Her eyes closed, smoke rings coming out of her mouth, Bella did not realize that someone was standing in front of her gate until she felt the oddest sensation of a full puff of smoke blowing against her nose.   
  
She looked up, and found herself staring at an old gray robe and a matching pointy hat, and a familiar bearded face. Schooling her features into well-measured ignorance, Bella raised her pipe in greeting.   
  
"Good morning," she said tersely, looking up and down again distractedly.   
  
"What do you mean?" said the rasping old voice. "Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not?"   
  
Bella, in the interest of propriety, put down her legs as the old wizard continued in the same vein, responding with whatever she could come up with, not entirely sure she knew what she'd just said. "All of them at once, I suppose" didn't seem to please Gandalf in the slightest, something that brought Bella some small satisfaction in his discontent.   
  
"Can I help you?" she asked, feigning ignorance.   
  
After a moment's silence, the wizard spoke once more.   
  
"Bilbo Baggins."   
  
Bella nodded slowly.   
  
"Quite an odd name, considering. After a relation?"   
  
Bella bristled. "After a fashion," she responded stonily. A moment's hesitation, and she followed with "Excuse me," as she took her letters out of her mail box to feign busyness. "If there was nothing else..."  
  
"To think that I should live to see you give up the name of your mother, Belladonna Baggins, as if it were an inconvenience. Imagine my surprise, hearing of this--this Bilbo something-or-other taking claim of Bag End. Now I am pleased to see that you yourself have not left the estate to any strange relations, otherwise, I would have failed your mother."  
  
"Oh, but you have done that already, haven't you, Master Wizard?" Bella said coldly. "To come back into my mother's life, and then leave without notice? To not even attend her funeral? For all your wizardly knowledge, Gandalf, I'm surprised it took you seven years to realize that your remarkable hobbit lass died of grief."   
  
That seemed to shut him up, enough. He stared at her, his steely eyes taking in the tired bags beneath her own and the dulling of her once-golden hair. She looked very much like her mother, but more of herself than anyone else Gandalf knew.   
  
"I fear that I may be unwelcome," he said carefully, and immediately, Bella deflated. Rude, she thought. Rude, rude, rude.   
  
"No. Never. Come in," Bella sighed, opening the gate to let the wizard through. "We still have the big seats for you, and any visitors of your stature, not that there are many. My mother always made sure they wouldn't be put away."   
  
"Hrm," Gandalf said slowly. "Tell me.... how was she, in the end?"   
  
"Terrible," Bella murmured. "To tell you the truth, she might have benefitted from another adventure, if there were one readily available to her. But in the end, she didn't want to leave the house. She didn't want to leave the home he'd made for her."   
  
Wiping her eyes from tears that didn't quite fall, Bella set out some refreshments at the lone dining table in the kitchen.   
  
"You are both similar, in that regard," Gandalf remarked after a while.   
  
"In what?"   
  
"You would both have benefitted from an adventure. In fact, you would now, if one were made readily available to you."   
  
Bella paused in her preparations. There was a buzz in her heart, a Tookish sort of excitement that broke the best of her sensibilities. An adventure. With Gandalf!   
  
The child in her reminded her of how long she'd dreamed of such a thing--since infancy, perhaps, when Belladonna, a bright spark in her eyes, would regale her with tales of elves and the world of the big folk, and everything she'd seen outside of the Shire.   
  
The excitement was difficult to quash, but she managed it as she poured them both some tea, and took out one of their wines for good measure.   
  
"I don't think so," she said, chiding herself mentally for the uncertainty in her tone.   
  
"No?"  
  
"No," Bella said, shaking her head. "No adventures. Nasty, uncomfortable, dangerous things. I've had my fair share of them, thank you."  
  
"You would live the rest of your life alone in your large little hobbit hole without ever leaving the Shire?" Gandalf pressed.   
  
"This is my home," Bella said.   
  
"Home, as I have heard from all you hobbits, is where the heart is," Gandalf said. "And your mother once told me, a very long time ago, that your heart is not here."   
  
At his words, Bella very nearly dropped her tea. She struggled to compose herself, angry that her well-mastered persona, her uncaring mask, was cracking so easily under the pressures of a simple wizard's words. It was too late--already she saw in the dimness of her mind's eye, the impression of a dark beard, a sad smile, of blue eyes and an impressive brow.   
  
She hadn't forgotten. That was why she never threw away the bead.   
  
"Whatever it is Gandalf," Bella said quietly, almost lifelessly. "I won't do it."   
  
"That," Gandalf said decidedly, standing up and quickly taking his leave, startling Bella into following. "Remains to be seen."   
  
"What? Where are you going?"   
  
"To inform the others."  
  
"What others!?"   
  
"It shall be very good for you, I think--" Gandalf said,whipping around just as he reached the door. "To have some life brought back into this lonely house."   
  
"Gandalf, I don't think--"  
  
He was out the door before she could get another word in, left to stare at the brown circle of wood in silence.  
  
She spent the rest of the day cursing foolish wizards, dreading Gandalf's unknowable plan, and never once noticing the mark left on the front of her newly painted door.   
  



	19. An Unexpected Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twelve--no--thirteen dwarves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finals week and any chapter from me will be an unexpected one. Literally I wrote this entire chapter sitting at the printing shop, waiting for three hours to print my 600 Philippine pesos worth of projects (about 14 American dollars). 
> 
> I have the next chapter halfway written and it will likely stay that way until Thursday, when I'm freed from the shackles of school. 
> 
> ... enjoy :)

Many people were under the assumption that Bilbo Baggins stemmed from Bella's relation, a certain Belba Baggins, whose name was similar enough to make the connection, or the old patriarch, Balbo Baggins.  
  
No one knew the real origin of Bella's nomme de plume but Hamfast Gamgee, the young gardener who visited Bag End on Saturdays to tend to Bella's favorite flowers. No one else knew, simply because they were more comfortable assuming than simply asking her outright.  
  
The reason Bella chose "Bilbo" was etched into the trunk of a little tree in the back yard. "Bell+Bu", it read, cut off by an errant branch which had sprung since then.  
  
It was something Bungo had done very long ago, when he was still in the middle of building Bag End, in the middle of courting Belladonna, and at the age when even a Baggins wasn't exempt from wonderful, childish, romantic notions.  
  
No one had even an inkling how significant the name was, and how often Bella reminisced on her time with her parents when she wrote it.  
  
No longer was she the flighty Bella Baggins of her childhood--she was Bilbo now, in name and spirit, Belladonna to family and friends, Belladonna-the-younger in passing. Belladonna was a formality. Bilbo was her way of honoring her mother and father, honoring their passing by holding to their wishes.  
  
 _I never want to see my daughter come to harm, Gandalf,_ said a tired Belladonna.  
  
 _If you were a proper Baggins lady, then I wouldn't have to worry so much about you,_ said a sickly Bungo, stroking her face with nothing but the deepest love.  
  
 _I never want you to do anything so foolish ever again, do you hear me?_ said the two of them, angrier and more frightened than she'd ever seen them.  
  
They were gone now, but their spirit remained, and Bella held on. She would hold on, for as long as she was alive.  
  
-  
  
She was wary. More than wary, she was entirely suspicious. Gandalf had not given her any sort of idea when he'd be returning (and by his words, she knew he'd be returning, that was clear enough despite his mysterious way of stating it), and she didn't know if she should prepare for guests. As for how many guests, well, it wasn't as if the wizard had enough common courtesy to give her a count.  
  
"Bother and bombusticate Gandalf," Bella muttered under her breath as she stomped down Bag End, remembering herself as she entered the pantry. "Rude and uncourteous, showing up without a by-your-leave and inviting strangers to my house." She uncovered the meats to check on their freshness and did the same with the fish, calming down at the scent of good food. She took down the rolls and the loaves, the vegetables and the cheeses, and after a once-over, nodded.  
  
She was giddy, she realized. Giddy at the thought of guests. A wizard's guests, moreover. What if they were elves? Oh, but she would feel so very plain before them.  
  
"They had better not be elves," she told herself. She didn't think she could take it if they were.  
  
Lunch passed without incident. Afternoon tea was peaceful. Dinner was entirely unaffected. By the time supper had come on, Bella decided that perhaps she'd overestimated Gandalf's punctuality.  
  
But as she tucked in for a good meal of grilled fish with lemon juice and a few of her favorite rolls, finally at peace with the idea that Gandalf would probably not return for another week, there was a loud knock on her door.  
  
"Oh no."  
  
She wasn't even dressed! In her quilted robe, with only her nightgown underneath, she wasn't fit to entertain guests!  
  
Gandalf was going to have an earful.  
  
"I hope you know that--" she began as she threw the door open, her voice dying in her throat when she saw the impressive, but comparably shorter figure at the door.  
  
The dwarf (for that was what he was, though he was much taller than Bella expected) turned around, giving a formal bow as he said "Dwalin. At yer service."  
  
The noise that Bella made at the back of her throat resembled a dying mouse, and she tightened the thick robe around her waist as she gave her own bow.  
  
"Ah... Bel--Bell--hmm, Bilbo Baggins, at yours," she said. So used was she to dealing with outsiders as Bilbo that she took to the name quickly enough, thankful for the robe that gave her modesty and a decent enough deceit.  
  
The dwarf seemed to accept it, tossing her his overly heavy traveling cloak as he entered. "Which way, laddie?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Supper. He said there'd be food, and lots of it."  
  
And once more, Bella cursed, in her own head, the confoundedness of Gandalf and his strange, improper ways.  
  
-  
  
One dwarf was a shock.  
  
Two was an expectation.  
  
Four was, well, four was a surprise, but not enough that Bella couldn't point them to the dining room made for attending guests.  
  
"Please, not that chair, that's an antique, not for sitting--don't take my prize winners, please--excuse me are those swords?"  
  
"Of course, I almost forgot. Here ya go!" said the blond, dropping the sheathed blades into her hands. The weight nearly bowled her over, but Bella righted herself quickly. It was at that moment that another knock sounded from the door, at which point Bella was already quite thoroughly miffed.  
  
"If that is you, Gandalf the wizard, then I would very, very much like to have a word with you--" Bella said tersely and loudly as she stomped down the hall, dropping the swords unceremoniously on her mother's glory box and yanking the door open.  
  
She jumped back, not expecting the--eight!??--dwarves standing at the round door, promptly falling down into Bella's front hall.  
  
And beyond them, leaning down to survey the situation, was the wizard himself, not even looking the slightest bit guilty.  
  
"Gandalf," Bella said accusingly. "There you are."  
  
"Ah! Master Baggins. Lovely night, isn't it?"  
  
"For someone who was expecting twelve dwarves at their doorstep, perhaps," Bella said significantly, backing up as the newcomers stood, introducing themselves and giving Bella a bow each. "But I wasn't expecting twelve dwarves at my doorstep," Bella continued irately when they all found their way to the dining room. "Because a certain wizard did not think to tell me such a thing."  
  
"My dear Bella, I did say I would be bringing life back into the household."  
  
"Oh, and you're lucky I could figure even half of that out!" Bella raged. "Life back into the household? You could have very well been bringing me a litter of puppies, for all I know of wizards! You didn't even give me a date! Gandalf, I am not even dressed for a gathering, and my pantry will not survive twelve dwarves!"  
  
"Thirteen," Gandalf corrected.  
  
"Oh, how lovely, one more rowdy, rough-housing.... stranger!"  
  
"Belladonna Baggins," Gandalf began, as if he were a parent scolding a child without that much conviction. "I know for a fact that your pantry is the most well-stocked in Hobbiton for one woman living alone," Gandalf began, "and I also know that, despite your manner of dress, that you have been the perfect host tonight, and, according to your nature, will continue to be the perfect host--unexpected party or not."  
  
Bella opened her mouth to argue, but deflated immediately. He was right, as much as she was loath to admit it.  
  
"Now, I promise you that, before this night ends, your spirit will be all the better for it." His tone gentled. "You have been alone for much too long. You were not made to be, despite your best intentions. And this company, they're quite a merry gathering. Once you get used to them."  
  
"I would rather not," Bella said, though her ire eased into simple irritation, and even that began to wane. "So," she began, "you invited twelve--sorry--thirteen dwarves to my household for late supper simply because you thought I was alone for too long?"  
  
"Well, that is part of the reason. I confess, there's much more to it."  
  
"Ah, so I am a means to an end?"  
  
"As are they, for your sake, if the night turns out as I hope it will."  
  
"All right," Bella said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. "Keep your secrets."  
  
Gandalf made a vague noise at the back of his throat, a rasping hum actually brought a sort of smile to Bella's face. "You introduced yourself as Bilbo, did you not?" Gandalf said.  
  
"Yes," Bella said. "How did you know?"  
  
"I know that you like to use the name when it comes to strangers and non-hobbits," Gandalf said thoughtfully. "But it was only a guess. I was to continue to refer to you as 'Master Baggins' until I was certain. It wouldn't have been incorrect, since you are the master of Bag End, whether Belladonna or Bilbo by name."  
  
"Well thank you," Bella said, surprised that she meant it despite all of the wizard's shortcomings.  
  
When they both arrived at the dining room, Gandalf took the big seat, and Bella hovered at the door for the remainder of the meal, sighing as she munched on one of the biscuits the first dwarf--Dwalin, she remembered--had liberated from the jar on the mantel. She winced when they spilled their drinks and belched loudly and did all sorts of things that weren't at all proper, but was too polite to say so. In any case, it was useless to try to reason with two. How could she even begin to hope with twelve?  
  
Dwarves, she thought, amused. She never expected them to be so rowdy. As it stood, she didn't have too large a frame of reference. After all, rough as he was, Thorin had the bearing of a king .  
  
"Thorin Oakenshield," she murmured, "at-your-service-and-your-family's." She snorted. "Can't believe I still remember that."  
  
With all the dwarves that had come into her home, and all the ones she'd dealt with in passing during trading months, she found that she could not call his features to mind. She never bothered before. She'd forgotten about him for years, too busy with Bungo's care, then Belladonna's, then their memories. She remembered his features individually--his blue eyes, his strong brow and nose, his long black hair, and his voice. For all that she tried, she could not put them back together.  
  
She didn't know how to feel about that.  
  
"Well," Bella said to herself. "What's done is done. Now, shall I salvage some of my dignity and dress for guests?" Not that there was any point to dressing for guests, as they'd seen her in her thick and homey night robe, but her propriety compelled her. If she was to play Bilbo Baggins, then she'd have to whip out her trousers, and one of the waistcoats she'd had fitted long ago ("That Belladonna Baggins, she does the strangest things, but only ever for practical reasons," they said the first time she'd dressed in men's clothes, to deal with passing traders).    
  
She was stopped in her tracks when, to her horror, the dwarves began throwing her mother's pottery around.  
  
"No, no, no, no, no!" she said indignantly. "Please don't--ah, my silverware!" she cried when she glanced back into the dining room. "Can you not do that--you'll blunt them!" she spluttered.  
  
"Ya hear that, lads?" said one dwarf--the one with the hat he never seemed to take off. "He says we'll blunt the knives!"  
  
Bella might have cried. They were laughing at her plight, and singing. Singing! As if the state of her pantry wasn't bad enough, the dwarves thought it would be amusing to play with her valuable clay and silverware like toys! It was a wonder they hadn't broken anything. If she weren't so fraught with worry, she might have been impressed.  
  
The song went for many verses, in which time some of the dwarves had whipped out their instruments--not that that gave them an excuse to stop throwing her dining implements around.  
  
When it ended, and her plates and bowls were cleaned, piled up on the dining table with an efficiency she didn't think possible, Bella had to catch herself on the doorframe, relief giving her knees the consistency of jelly.  
  
They laughed heartily, but every single one of them went suddenly silent. It didn't register why until Gandalf stood. "He's here," he said, and all the dwarves began to mill out of the dining room to the main hall.  
  
"What--" Bella followed, wondering what would warrant their sudden solemnity. She saw Gandalf open the door, and as she struggled between the shoulders of some of the dwarves, heard the latter pieces of their conversation.  
  
"--if it wasn't for that mark on the door."  
  
"Mark?" Bella repeated, breaking through the wall of dwarves. "There is no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago," she continued, trying to find her bearings.  
  
"There is a mark, I put it there myself," Gandalf said, and Bella spared him a bitter look before turning to face the newcomer like a proper host.  
  
And very promptly, the master of Bag End found her heart plummeting right down into the pit of her stomach.  
  
"Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf introduced, giving Bella a nod, "allow me to introduce the leader of our company--Thorin Oakenshield."  
  
And the steely blue eyes, the dark hair (flecked with silver, a detail she'd forgotten, or perhaps had changed with age), the strong brow and the thick black beard--they all came together in this dwarf, in the dwarf that had mattered so much to her for so many years. Here, in the flesh, he stood right before her, his eyes brightening at the sight of her, his mouth half-open in what Bella realized was recognition.  
  
And when he smiled, so soft and so tender his look, Bella was lost.  
  
"So," he said, his arms coming forward, and then resting on her robed shoulders. "This is the hobbit."

 

* * *

_Here, in the flesh, he stood right before her, his eyes brightening at the sight of her, his mouth half-open in what Bella realized was recognition._

_And when he smiled, so soft and so tender his look, Bella was lost._

* * *

 

[[[guess who was watching the movie while writing this fic and counting the times Thorin smiled]]]

[the smile was an actual thing ok I just chose to interpret it to fit my fic needs]

[plus Thorin's look of wonderment when he saw Bilbo was A+++]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You knew when you walked into this that it would end in a cliffhanger, don't lie.
> 
> EDIT: Now with visual aid


	20. Took and Baggins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There goes our burglar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had absolutely no inspiration for this chapter, guilt was my muse and guilt made me write, and hopefully it'll have me write the next chapter quicker.

  
There was a playfulness in his eyes Bella didn't expect to see, and when he spoke, all she could do was splutter.   
  
"Tell me master Baggins, have you done much fighting?"  
  
"What?"   
  
"Axe or... sword," Thorin continued, walking round her as if to take in her entirety. "What's your weapon of choice?"  
  
Nothing. Nothing at all, she thought bitterly. "Well I do have some skill at conkers," she said tersely. "But I fail to see... why that's relevant."   
  
"Thought as much," he then said. "You look more like a grocer than a burglar."  
  
The boisterous laughter of the company didn't give Bella the opportunity to answer, but Thorin's words stung even as he smiled in her direction, as though he expected her to share the joke.   
  
It hurt. Why did it hurt?  
  
"Come on then, Thorin. We saved ye somethin' to eat," said Dwalin, inviting Thorin to the dining room. If he looked back, Bella couldn't know, too busy looking down at her feet and leaning against the wall.   
  
"Bilbo?" Gandalf said as the rest of the dwarves went with their--their leader.   
  
More quietly, when they'd gone, Gandalf said, "Bella? Are you quite alright?"   
  
"Hm," Bella said in affirmative, though she found herself shaking her head.   
  
"What on earth is the matter?" Gandalf asked, real concern in his features.   
  
"Nothing," Bella found herself saying. "Nothing is the matter. Nothing at all. Why would anything be the matter? After all, it doesn't matter. Hm, nope, not at all."   
  
"Hrm... Bella," Gandalf said knowingly, again like a parent, but this time more convincingly so.   
  
"Why are they here, Gandalf?" Bella questioned briskly.   
  
"If we join them in the dining room," Gandalf answered, "you will find out."   
  
She let Gandalf go ahead, gathering her breath before walking in the other direction.   
  
When she returned, hovering out in the hall, looking dolefully at Thorin's back, then up at Gandalf, who was sitting to his left, she leaned against the wall with a small box cradled in her hands.   
  
She watched as Gandalf unrolled a map, and the first thing her eyes found was the figure of the dragon etched in ink. Beside it, the words inscribed, she read aloud. "The Lonely Mountain..."   
  
Just like in Thorin's stories. Just like that, she was a child again, sitting on the dwarf's lap and listening to his grim tales about a dragon and his once-home, taken from him, making the dwarves of Erebor nothing more than wanderers. But that was many years ago. What interest could they possibly have in it now?   
  
"You're going on a quest?" Bella said quietly, though her words were drowned out by the redheaded dwarf and his brother's exclamations about portents and ravens.   
  
Still, it was obvious, by the look on Thorin's face and the key Gandalf handed to him--a solemn affair Bella felt as though she had no part in.  
  
They were going to take back the mountain.  
  
"That's why we need a burglar," said the younger dwarf Ori. Burglar. Twice, in one night. Whatever this business was about burglars, Bella didn't think she wanted any part of it.   
  
"A good one, too," she said absently. "An expert, I'd imagine."  
  
"And are you?"   
  
She paused. Oh no. "Am I what?"  
  
"He said he's an expert!"   
  
Bella opened her mouth to protest, but the words were caught in her throat. She threw a pleading look at Gandalf, who said nothing on the matter, though Balin, the kindly-looking older dwarf from earlier, spoke for her.   
  
"Master Baggins hardly seems like burglar material."  
  
"That's because I am no burglar," said Bella. "I wouldn't be of any help to you."  
  
"Aye, the wild is no place for gentlefolk," said Dwalin. "Burglar or not."  
  
"Me? A burglar?" she muttered as the dwarves began to argue among themselves. Gandalf. Gandalf was absolutely no help at all, listing virtues that Bella did not have, making her out to be some kind of... adventurer, based on things she'd only done as a child.   
  
"Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet, and can pass unseen by most, if they choose," he said, and that was true enough, Bella thought. "And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of dwarf, the scent of hobbit is all but unknown to him."   
  
"The dragon--" Bella began.   
  
"--and Master Baggins has a great deal more to offer than any of you know," Gandalf promised.   
  
There was a pause that Bella didn't think to fill, when Thorin looked over his shoulder, assessing her, and then to Gandalf, his expression grave.   
  
And when Gandalf said, "You must trust me on this," Bella couldn't say a word in argument.   
  
She didn't want to.   
  
"Give him the contract," Thorin said, and Bella found a folded, orderly (if a little bedraggled) paper shoved into her hands.   
  
Ah, contracts. Finally, something she was good at.   
  
On the bright side, she thought, knowing she had finally given up fighting a losing battle, one-fourteenth of the total profit seemed more than fair enough for someone like her, who was well off enough already.   
  
"Lacerations... Evisceration," she gulped. "Incineration!?"   
  
"Oh, aye, he'll melt th'flesh off yer bones in the blink of an eye."   
  
"Oh."  
  
The dwarf Bofur went on, but Bella didn't actually hear him. The image was quite enough to take her, of dragon fire, and her flesh searing right off her bones, as she'd seen done with the meat they prepared for feasts or suppers aplenty.   
  
"Nope."   
  
And that was that, with her back and cheek greeting the floor and her eyesight gone in a second.   
  
  
  
"I'm quite alright," Bella said, her head still reeling from her fainting spell, the hands of a couple of dwarves patting her shoulders and arms in concern. She looked around blearily as they left the living room, assumably because of Gandalf's bid for a private conversation. "How did I get into this chair?" she asked after a moment's silence.  
  
Gandalf sighed.   
  
"Right, sorry," Bella sighed in turn. She found herself holding a cup of chamomile and wondered if the particularly agreeable, tea-loving dwarf Dori had anything to do with it. "Just let me sit quietly for a moment."  
  
"You've been sitting quietly for far too long," Gandalf said pointedly.   
  
"Hmm, taking care of my parents' house, you mean," Bella retorted.   
  
"A house without an ounce of your mother's spirit left in it," Gandalf said. "Of all the things I expected to find when I came back to Bag End, I certainly did not expect to find a hobbit so faint-hearted, the word of a dwarf would fell her."  
  
"Well I'm sorry if the idea of being burned to death does not sit well with me, Gandalf," Belladonna said, her hands and voice shaking. "Give me a nice hearth or a campfire any day. Who would be foolish enough to face a dragon? What were they thinking, what was Thorin thinking when he decided on a quest with only twelve dwarves in his company? Not even a small army, twelve dwarves? They'd be killed! Incinerated! And you, how could you lie about me? What were you thinking, leading them to believe I'm some kind of burglar?"   
  
"I was thinking, Bella Baggins, that this adventure might be something of value to you," Gandalf said gravely. "After all, it is being led by your dwarf."  
  
"My dwa--my what? There is no.... he is not..."  
  
"And already you know of whom I speak," Gandalf said.   
  
Bella sputtered, laying her cup down indignantly.   
  
"How could you!? How could you, Gandalf!? How could you barge into my life, bring ghosts of the past, ruin everything I've built up as a Baggins, and not come for my mother?" She belatedly realized that she was raising her voice, and only propriety saved her from shouting altogether. "How could you let her death pass you by, and have the gall to come to me and expect me to come on an adventure that you should have offered to my mother?" she hissed, her finger jabbing directly at Gandalf's chest.   
  
There was true sadness in Gandalf's eyes, and it only bred sadness in Bella's own heart.   
  
"I am not my mother, Gandalf," Bella whispered. "I can't. I can't go on this adventure, I can't pretend that any of this... I'm a Baggins, Gandalf. A Baggins, of Bag End. Not of a mountain, or a faraway kingdom, and certainly not of a company of wandering dwarves."  
  
"You may be a Baggins, Belladonna the younger," Gandalf said, "but you are also a Took. No matter how hard you try, you cannot kill that part of you."  
  
They sat in silence, and Bella sipped the tea given to her, finding it sweet and soothing.   
  
"I'm sorry, Gandalf," she said with finality. "I just can't. You've got the wrong hobbit," she mumbled on, "the one you wanted has been gone for decades. And--and you can tell Thorin the same. I'm not the one you want, and I don't expect I'll ever be again."  
  



	21. Thorin Oathbreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You are no oathbreaker, Thorin Oakenshield."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience (◡ ‿ ◡ ✿)

  
They stood in the hall, waiting for the wizard to emerge. When he did, it was with his head bent low (more out of disappointment than him making up for the lowness of the ceiling relative to his not inconsiderable height), shaking when he saw them look.   
  
"It seems we've lost our burglar," Balin sighed. "Not that we had much luck to begin with, but I don't have much faith in the success of this mission with only thirteen. And our burglar seems to have found his tongue long enough to refuse."  
  
Thorin looked to where Gandalf came from, the living room with the low roaring fire that he remembered from long ago. He said nothing in response, unable to form words as he traced the shape of a thick-robed shoulder behind the back of the soft, plush chair.   
  
"Thorin?"  
  
"What is it, Balin?"  
  
"Why now?" the old dwarf asked. "Why ever? Are we not a content people? Have we not made our own fortunes in the blue mountains?"  
  
"Fortune," Thorin scoffed, though his tone was gentle. "Is that what you call it? Fortune? A mine and a humble village where we once had the greatest kingdom in Middle Earth? Little bags of gold and silver, no bigger than our fists, where we once had mountains? What fortune is there in smiths, carvers, and coal-miners?"  
  
"You never spoke of this before," Balin said. "Your discontent in our village, in our trade... were you never happy?"   
  
"It's not that, Balin."  
  
"Then what is it?" Balin demanded softly.   
  
There was a silence, and Thorin seemed to stare off into the distance, licking his lips and finding his words. "I still remember, Balin. And so should you. A kingdom, worthy of our line. Prosperity, luxury, the stuff of legend. Of that, what is left? Near starvation every harsh winter, a hall barely even a fraction of the size of my grandfather's throne room... When I speak of such things, I realize that we are not humbled in our years--we are humiliated."  
  
"You don't have to do this," Balin said gently. "You have a choice."  
  
Thorin was silent for a time longer, until he took a deep, thoughtful breath, and spoke once more. "Do you remember, long ago, when I had first set out to ask for the help of our kin?"  
  
"Yes. You said there were ruffians, pretenders who played as relatives who nearly had you killed," Balin said seriously, "and I have always regretted not coming with you on that quest. But you said you killed them."  
  
"I did not kill them," Thorin said. "At least, not alone. I had help."  
  
"Help?"  
  
Thorin glanced down the hall, to the bedroom with a half-open door, and a faint light coming from within.   
  
"A hobbit," Thorin said. "A mere child. Twice, those pretenders nearly killed me, and twice, this little hobbit lass came to my aid. And before I left, I made her a promise."  
  
"And what exactly did you promise?" Balin asked, his worried tone giving way to soft wryness.   
  
"I promised that I would come back," Thorin said. "To a hobbit I'd found worthier than many of my own people, I promised what I thought I would regain long before now. I promised to bring her to the greatest kingdom in all of Middle Earth, and I promised to make her a princess," Thorin laughed softly, "and give her that which princesses deserved."   
  
Balin said nothing, watching as Thorin's eyes misted over, and he looked beyond the hall.   
  
"And now that I return, I find nothing left of the child I once knew. Nearly forty years hence, I find a lonely hobbit, unmarried, without a family, hardened by years without anyone to tell her that there was something to look forward to."  
  
"Master Baggins," Balin said in realization, "is, then, Mistress Baggins?"  
  
"I don't suppose Gandalf wished for anything to hinder his intended 'burglar' in this journey, propriety or otherwise," Thorin said, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter now, I suppose. She is not the hobbit she once was."  
  
His word echoed the hobbit's, and Balin shook his head, wondering how such a character could ever have been this worthy savior Thorin spoke of.  
  
"I've made many promises, Balin," Thorin continued. "I promised Frerin that we would be glorious in battle, together in victory against the orcs. I promised Dis that her sons would grow up princes, and that she would be showered in gold and jewels as a princess should be. I promised my people that we would take back the kingdom that had once made us great. I promised a young Bella Baggins that I would make her a princess, and I have failed in all those promises. How long before Thorin Oakenshield will be known as Thorin Oathbreaker, and how long before my promise to the one who saved my life many times over becomes another I cannot keep?"  
  
"You are no oathbreaker, Thorin Oakenshield," Balin said, almost harsh in his tones. "You are a noble dwarf, a good dwarf, and among you are honorable dwarrows who see a true king--a king who will bring us home." He went on, softer, "We stand with you now, laddie. If you doubt yourself, this quest is lost."   
  
"And," he added, "truth be told, I have no faith in this quest." He reached over, touching his spread palm over Thorin's heart. "But I came because I have faith in my king. And I will follow you to the end."  
  
Soft, but radiant, Thorin smiled at his old friend and warrior. "Thank you, Balin."

-  
  
From down the hall, drifting into her bedroom, Bella Baggins could hear the sound of dwarves singing solemnly in her den. It was a familiar song, with a familiar voice that made her heart ache.   
  
Come the morning, they would be gone. All of them. And she could forget about this whole business with dwarves and kings and dragons and mountains and go back to being  
  
 _alone. Stagnant. Unmoving. Wary of the world._   
  
Thorin's voice was so soothing, she thought absently. So sad. In her hands, still, she held the box. To the sound of their song, she opened it, and found the old bead inside. It shone, even after all these long years, and she held it up with one hand and watched as it glimmered in the firelight.   
  
She couldn't remember when she closed her eyes, nor when she fell asleep. She could only remember the song ending, and the lights going out, and the bead between her fingers as she rested her head against the pillow.


	22. Intermission 2: Loyalty, Trust, and Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Froda and Bella spending the evening by the fire.

  
That Bella was too old to bear children was her greatest tragedy, though she had suffered a few.   
  
But the world deemed her fit to have a child of her own, nonetheless, and she raised Froda with the Baggins sensibility that she had retained and the Tookish mischief that allowed the little girl to roam free, playing with her cousins, Merry and Pippin, and followed around by Gaffer Gamgee's son, who had taken to watching out for her in case she got into any more trouble than she could handle.   
  
She didn't bother holding back her laughter when the children would arrive at her doorstep, mid-afternoon, covered in mud and twigs and, on one memorable occasion, dripping from head to toe, after falling into a pond--the result of one of Meriabel Brandybuck's many none-too-wise ideas.   
  
"It's your own fault you decided to listen to your cousin," Bella scolded as she cleaned the girl up. "Now see, between her and Pippin, she may have more of the cunning, but there's not enough common sense between the both of them to fill a teacup--ha!"  
  
And in the evening, the older hobbitess and the younger lass--nearly in her tweens, though still young enough to get up to all sorts of mischief--sat together beside the warm hearth, sipping their tea and sharing stories. Froda regaled Bella with their adventure, where Merry and Pippin had thought to steal from Farmer Maggot's crop, and they'd somehow roped Froda into the scheme with talk of delicious mushrooms and a meal of creamy souped cabbage. Needless to say, they were running off before the farmer's dogs could catch up to them, Froda and Merry hitching up their skirts and Pippin running right behind.   
  
They bumped into Samwise (to his chagrin) halfway down the hill, and in their haste, sent all four of them sprawling into the muddy bank, right down into the duck pond.  
  
"He was so cross with the two," Froda laughed, "but he didn't say a word about me."  
  
"He likes you too much," Bella said frankly, snorting over her cup.   
  
"He's terribly loyal," Froda shrugged. "Always standing right by me when I need him. Did you ever have anyone like that?"  
  
"Not technically," Bella said. "He wasn't so loyal as Samwise, not 'til near the end. But dwarves, once you have their loyalty, or their trust, or their love, you have it forevermore."  
  
Froda looked up at the pictures on the mantel. There, on the center, framed in a simple steel frame, polished and well-cared for, was a painted picture of a proud dwarf king, his hair streaked with silver and his eyes a steely blue. In this picture, he had no crown--in fact, he was dressed very simply, from what could be seen above the chest. He wore a royal blue tunic and had a silver accent pinned to one shoulder, looking every bit the noble dwarrow that he was.   
  
Froda considered the picture for a few minutes, enough that Bella settled into the silence comfortably, resting against the back of her seat and closing her eyes.   
  
"I look like him," Froda said after a while.   
  
"Yes, you do," Bella said, opening her eyes and looking to the soft burning fire.   
  
"I wish I could have met him," Froda continued.  
  
"He would have liked you very much, I think," Bella said sleepily. "Perhaps we could go to Erebor one day... the two of us..."  
  
"I'd like that very much, Auntie," Froda said genuinely.   
  
"You're just about due an adventure, I think," Bella went on, her eyes fluttering as the warmth and the comfort settled over her like a blanket.   
  
Froda only smiled, taking a few more sips from her tea. By the time she was done, her aunt was asleep. The tween reached over and took the cup and saucer from her hands, placing it on the table. After a moment's thought, she kissed her aunt on the top of her white-streaked head, and she whispered, "dream of him, auntie," before retreating to the kitchen.   
  



	23. King Under the Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too busy was she, looking across the fire and the dark crag at the figure Thorin cut. 
> 
> The figure of a king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this is late D: I've been on some crazy long leadership trainings and other stuff that have kept me away. I wanted to have a new chapter done by May 11 for a certain someone's birthday, but I failed. 
> 
> Plus, my comma key stopped working entirely so I spent a day and a half searching for a way to remap my keyboard. 
> 
> Finally, success! I hope you like this chapter, and I hope I can get a next one up sooner. Thank you so much for all the support and patience!

  
She awoke to the light of the morning sun, its rays peeking through the window. She opened her eyes and blinked blearily up at the smoke drifting up from the candle in her room.   
  
The first thing she noticed, apart from what was right in front of her, was that the house was empty. Devoid of activity, and of the sound of dwarves tramping around and trailing dirt on her floors. She felt relieved. When she went to check and found her suspicions verified, she even felt triumphant.   
  
Both the relief and the triumph were short lived when she got to the den. The hearth was nothing but ash and blackened wood, cold and empty. She bent over to brush away the soot that had stained the floor, and from the wrinkles in her shirt, something infinitesimal fell, rolling away from her before she could catch it.   
  
She cursed as it rolled under the chair, and she had to move her furniture (careful not to scrape the floor) to get to it.   
  
Sure enough--yes!--it was the wooden bead, with its little crystal, sparkling in the sunlight streaming in from the hallway. Bella picked it up, and as she got up, spotted the contract on the table.   
  
In elegant writing, she saw the signatures--Balin, son of Fundin, and Thorin, son of Thrain.  
  
 _"My father's name was Thrain," he said. "Son of Thror. My grandfather, the last great king under the mountain."_  
  
 _"Before the dragon," Bella said gravely._  
  
 _"Yes. Before our home was taken from us."_  
  
 _"In my stories," Bella said solemnly. "When princes fight dragons, they always win."_  
  
 _For a time, Thorin was silent. But very carefully, he wrapped his arms around Bella's shoulders and thanked her, solemnly. "You give me great confidence, my little princess," he'd said. "But this is not one of your stories, and it will be fortunate indeed if we triumph against this evil."_  
  
 _"I'll help you."_  
  
 _"No, Bella."_  
  
 _"Yes, I will! I'll help you slay the dragon. I'll help you take back your home."_  
  
Bella Baggins wasn't in the habit of making promises she couldn't keep. And, looking at the empty house that held no real life--at least, not anymore, she knew that she couldn't break this one.   
  
Grabbing the box she'd left on the bedside table, rattling as she threw it onto the bed, Bella began to pack as fast as she possibly could, dawn's light slowly drifting into Bag End's empty pantry. 

\----  
  
It was a strange sight indeed, the figure that ran down the hill, jumping over fences and upsetting chickens in his hurry--no, in her hurry--in trousers and her traveling coat, to get wherever it was she was going.   
  
Off to somewhere far, by the look of her pack.   
  
"Miss Bella? Where are you off to?" Hamfast Gamgee called‚ balancing gardening tools on one shoulder and looking completely gobsmacked at the woman's behavior.   
  
"I'm going on an adventure!" Bella called back with no small amount of glee‚ her eyes looking straight on and gleaming with excitement. 

\----  
  
He told himself it was relief that he felt when they left Bag End without incident, with Bella Baggins still asleep in her bed. Changed or not, the wild was no place for her, and he could not allow her to be put in harm's way again.  
  
So when he heard the distant call to wait, and saw her stumbling along with the contract flying in the wind, all he could summon was shock, though Balin looked unusually pleased by the development. So fearing that he couldn't tear his eyes away if he looked at her for too long, Thorin did what he could to clear his head of distraction--he ignored her. They had far to travel yet, and he couldn't allow himself to treat her any differently than the others.   
  
"Bilbo?"   
  
"Hm?" Bella startled, and she found herself looking at the face of the cheerful, if mischievous dwarf who'd thrown her some cloth to use as a handkerchief earlier. Bofur, if memory served.   
  
"Y'alright there?" he asked, wide smile still in place, though more kindly than mischievous now, Bella was thankful to see.   
  
"Yes, fine," Bella responded quickly. "I just... I'm not used to traveling. Or horses."  
  
"Don't worry mister Baggins," said the youngest--Ori--who was riding nearby. "These are good horses, the best you'd ever think to ride. They won't cause you any trouble."  
  
"Thank you master Ori," Bella said, smiling gratefully. "Though I fear I'd cause them more trouble than they would cause me. I don't have a great deal of experience with ponies, but I do know how reliable they can be."  
  
It was funny, remembering her adventure after all this time. She wondered about the pony that Thorin had ridden out of the Shire, the one that had warned her of the danger he'd been in, the one he bought and kept for longer than he'd been with her. She thought to ask, but didn't. With Thorin so far ahead, she doubted he'd stop, or even slow, for such a conversation concerning ponies.   
  
She wasn't a child anymore, and such things should have been beyond her.   
  
But still, she wondered.   
  
\----  
  
"Here you go, Myrtle. Our little secret," Bella whispered. Admittedly, it didn't take her long to warm to her pony. It was a sweet creature, and it was better company than some of the dwarves, who hadn't yet warmed to her. Dwalin in particular was rough in his treatment of her, though she didn't complain about that, as much as she complained about other things.   
  
Not to anyone in particular, she would mutter under her breath about not being able to sleep, about the hard and sharp rocks under her thin bed roll and the noise of Bombur's snores. She supposed she'd sleep where she could and when she could, since her attempts had yet to be successful.   
  
When she heard the first howl, she startled.   
  
"Wolves?" she whispered in fear.   
  
Near her, Fili and Kili--still awake, keeping watch near their sleeping uncle--looked up.   
  
"No," Fili assured. "Those aren't wolves."  
  
"No," said Kili. "Wargs and orcs, I'd reckon."  
  
"Orcs?" Bella repeated, breath catching in her throat. She gasped, much too loud, realizing that she'd woken Thorin, whose eyes were wide and bleary at the word. Unwittingly, she hurried to his side, away from the edge of the crag.  
  
"Throat-cutters. There'd be dozens of them out there," Fili said with a shrug. As if this was a regular occurrence. "The lowlands are crawling with them."  
  
"They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood."  
  
Bella felt weak, felt another fainting spell coming over her, but it was cut short by Thorin's voice--the first she'd heard of it so close, not barking orders or conversing with others far away. It was harsh, harsher than she'd ever heard it.   
  
"You think that's funny? You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?"  
  
Bella took a deep breath, collecting herself as Fili and Kili hung their heads in shame.   
  
"They didn't mean--" she began, though Thorin cut her off, as if he hadn't heard her.   
  
"You know nothing of the world."  
  
If he hadn't been looking at Fili and Kili when he said it, Bella might have thought those words were meant for her. They struck her dumb, just as they did Fili and Kili, as Thorin walked to the edge of the crag, looking out into the darkness, as if remembering something from long ago.   
  
"Don't mind him, laddie," Balin said, walking over to the three. Bella slumped against the sloping stone, breathing deeply. "Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs."  
  
Bella looked to Balin, her eyes questioning. Fili seemed to understand, his gaze passing over them to focus on Thorin, though Kili kept his head low, still affected by Thorin's words.   
  
"Orcs took his family from him," said Balin. "His brother, his grandfather--and eventually, even his father." Bella froze, a sharp intake of her own breath cutting through the quiet. She didn't know this. She knew of the dragon, though even when she was a child, sitting on Thorin's knee, it was obvious by the look on his face how painful it was to recall.   
  
"After the dragon took Erebor, King Thror attempted to reclaim the great dwarven kingdom of Moria. But already, long before they had even made the attempt, orcs had taken it for their own--a great many of these creatures kept us from what we could have made our home, and King Thror decided to take it back, even if it meant a war."  
  
She'd never heard this story before, and slid her back down until her bottom touched the ground, resting her head against the cold stone.   
  
"We call it now the Battle of Azanulbizar, known to others as Dimrill Dale. We were victorious, though not without cost. My own father perished in the battle," Balin explained, the hard smile of an old wound etched into his face, "and Thorin lost his own grandfather to Azog, the Defiler. A foul enemy, a pale orc, who rode atop a white warg. The death of our king demoralized our kin, made the battle harder and harsher for we who were left fighting. But not Thorin."  
  
And with a misting in his eyes, Balin told them of the fight between the pale orc and Thorin, and how the dwarf prince had defended himself with nothing but an oaken branch--the very origin of his name. Bella could hear the admiration in Balin's voice, the pride in the one he now knew as king, but she did not see it--too busy was she, looking across the fire and the dark crag at the figure Thorin cut.   
  
The figure of a king.   
  
_"You look like all of the kings in the storybooks.They didn't stand the same way as the villains, or the regular folk. They stood like a king would stand, like they couldn't be knocked down. Like they were mountains. And they always looked very old, in their eyes, even when they were very young. You look very old in your eyes, like a king."_  
  
Very suddenly, in one moment of peace, Bella knew why she was there in the first place. If nothing else, to see this king of nothing become king under the mountain once more.   
  
Later that night, she slept, dreams of her storybook kings, and Thorin himself defeating the Defiler, dreams of his victory giving her rest. 


	24. Wizards and Trolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a twist to the troll story.

  
Bella was really quite curious about Gandalf. More so when she was a child, but even now, he was mysterious enough (rather, aggravatingly vague enough) about his nature and his work for Bella to ask questions.   
  
And the thought of other wizards made her curious.   
  
"There are the two blue wizards... hrm, I've quite forgotten their names," said Gandalf. "They went South very long ago and I haven't heard from them since--not that we regularly keep each other's company. So many years, and so few of us. You know."  
  
"Hm," Bella said non-comitally. "And who are the other wizards?"  
  
"Why, Saruman the White is the greatest and wisest of our order," said Gandalf. "And then there's Radagast, the Brown."  
  
"Is he a great wizard too," Bella asked wryly, "or is he more like you?"  
  
Gandalf grumbled. "I think he's a very great wizard. A gentle soul, who prefers the company of animals. Now that may seem strange to you, but there is much evil in the world--and not just among men. Radagast is a blessing to those he guards, the residents of the vast forests and green lands."  
  
This talk of evils in the big world reminded Bella of the darker mutterings of passing traders along the outer roads of the Shire, as well as those men who stopped by Bree for the night. Bella was a businesswoman, and ignored anything that had little to do with her business and the trade of the Shire, but even she could not ignore the way the men and some passing dwarves would speak direly of how orc packs seemed to grow restless and how there were more instances of trolls tramping around in places they never should have even shown themselves.   
  
She didn't know if this was true, and guiltily, she thought back to the times that she didn't quite care. The Shire was so very far from such things... it didn't seem to matter then.   
  
It certainly mattered now, traveling through dangerous places only to seek out more danger. And still she hadn't spoken to Thorin--not properly, anyway. Not that she knew what to say.   
  
In her pack, she carried the small box, both the bead and something else locked safely inside. She thought perhaps, at the end of it all, she would explain to him her reasons--and even know them herself, if she could spare the time.   
  
"We camp here for the night," she heard Thorin say, and the first thing she felt was relief... until Gandalf spoke.   
  
"I think it would be best if we moved on," he said warily. "Rivendell is not far from here, you know."  
  
Rivendell! The last homely house! Bella could not keep the grin off her face as she came over, to second the idea if she could. Thorin's anger stopped her in her tracks, and she realized as she hadn't before the ire he had for elves. She thought perhaps, from the stories he used to tell her, that this hatred was limited only to the elves of Greenwood--those who did not help fight the dragon Smaug--but it seemed as though Thorin was indiscriminate in his... discrimination.   
  
As rude as Thorin was being about it, Bella understood. Her patience was not like that of the wizard's, so she thought that Gandalf would understand as well.   
  
She was wrong.   
  
Having him storm off, muttering under his breath about the stubbornness of dwarves, was too much.   
  
"Where is he going?" she asked in a panic. Bofur shrugged, seemingly uncaring of what had just become a precarious situation.  
  
"He's a wizard. He does as he chooses."  
  
These were the same words he repeated, much, much later into the evening, when Bella commented on Gandalf's long disappearance.   
  
"Do us a favor," Bofur said afterward. "Take this to the lads."  
  
Happy to have something to do, Bella did as he asked.   
  
She should have expected more trouble. After all, they were due a life-threat, she supposed, with all the traveling they'd been doing on such dangerous roads.   
  
"Trolls!"  
  
She never should have left her home.  
  
  
Hobbits were indeed light on their feet, Gandalf was not wrong about that. Bella remembered a time she could sneak into a bandit's camp without being detected, and it made her confident she could do this as well.   
  
Of course, the one thing she forgot to remind herself of was how that turned out, and how her first encounter with bandits nearly ended with her and Thorin dead in a ditch somewhere.   
  
Thorin. Oh, he would hate her for taking such risks, but she did promise the boys. That they were older than her didn't register in the time they cajoled her into keeping their debacle a secret from Thorin.  
  
She found the ponies and thanked the Valar for how well-behaved they were acting, waiting patiently for her to free them.   
  
Not five minutes later, she was able to cut the ponies loose with the little scythe (enormous, relative to her) hanging from one of the trolls' grubby loin cloth ropes.   
  
Her triumph was short-loved, for along with the tramp of ponies fleeing was the sound of Bella's yell when one of the trolls grabbed her by the leg.   
  
"Oi! Wot's this then? An oversized squirrel?"  
  
"It cut out our dinner!"  
  
"It wot?"  
  
"Mebbe we should cut out its heart, then! Won't make more than a mouthful, but it's better than nuffin!"  
  
"No, no, no! No, that's not good at all!" she yelled, hoping that her fuss would stop them in their tracks--or in the very least, distract them and alert the brothers to her predicament. She saw neither hide nor hair of them, so her hopes were dashed in that regard.   
  
"It talks!"  
  
"Wot're you then?" one asked curiously, poking her in the stomach and quite possibly bruising her ribs in the process. She struggled to keep her shirt from falling, her waistcoat keeping it thankfully in place.   
  
"I'm a burgla--HOBBIT!" she said, disoriented by her position.   
  
"A burglarobbit?"  
  
"Can we cook 'im?"  
  
"Cook me!? Oh no no no, of course not! I'm barely anything. I'm not filling at all. I mean, look at me! Not even half a bite and I'll be all gone. No, I wouldn't make a good meal for one troll, let alone three," Bella said frantically.   
  
"You lost us our dinner! We ain't trustin' you, burgrobbit."  
  
"Besides, you're better than nuthin'."  
  
"I--I'm warning you! The last time someone tried to eat me... they got  boils!"  
  
"Boils!?"  
  
"Yes, and pox! And and and nasty rot set in. Their fingers fell right off of their hands and they couldn't eat for a week, and by the time they got better they'd just about starved themselves, and they died before they could raise the bread to their mouths!"  
  
The one holding her dropped her, terrified, and quick as she could, Bella took off into a run.   
  
Before she could get to the shelter of the bushes and trees, though, the other, angrier-sounding troll grabbed her again by the leg.   
  
"No!" she cried, her hands grasping the dirt. She was surprised, right then, when a larger hand (not nearly large enough to be a troll's) grabbed her wrist and held tight, and she looked up and saw Thorin, his face set in anger as he kept her from being taken again by the troll. Above them both, jumping out of the bushes, were Fili and Kili, Kili making the first move to slash at the troll's arm, loosing his grip on Bella.   
  
The force of it barreled Bella right into and on top of Thorin's chest, and with reflexes born of years of training, Thorin got them both up, pushing her behind him protectively.   
  
"We'll show you what happens when you threaten one of our own!" Kili shouted fiercely, right before the rest of the dwarves came running out of the foliage, charging the three trolls in wild but skillful combat.   
  



	25. Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fools come in all shapes and forms.

  
The fight was harsh, but not long. Three trolls were not a dragon, Bella reflected, and in combat, the dwarves had a good chance of defeating them.   
  
She was pushed into the bushes when Thorin joined the fray, irate that she was forced to stay put but relieved at the same time, watching and worrying as a heavy foot nearly crashed down on Gloin's head or as a wayward fist nearly took Nori's head off. She wanted to jump in, to help them, but she had never been in a real fight, and hadn't handled any sort of weapon in so very long. She feared she would only get in the way.   
  
She watched, aghast, as one of the trolls knocked Fili down, nearly crushing him with a raised foot. If not for Kili, shooting it in the meat of its shin and forcing it away from his brother, Fili would have been squashed right into jelly. The thought made Bella ill, and she struggled out of the bushes frantically.   
  
The very same troll took its revenge by smacking Kili away, the action giving Fili the chance to slash it at its ankle. It howled in pain, but very single-mindedly went after Kili, who was quickly defended by Thorin himself. Thorin's sword took out the troll's right hand, but not its left, and it knocked Thorin's head hard, the blunt force making Bella flinch as Thorin fell onto his back.   
  
"Thorin, no!" Kili yelled.   
  
Oh Bella, you absolute fool, she thought to herself, just as she took off into a run, watching the troll's left hand bear down on Thorin's form. As he struggled to stand, she jumped in front of him, caught by the troll's blind grip.   
  
And that was how Bella found herself near crushed in the one good hand of an angry troll, ceasing the little battle entirely.   
  
"No, Bilbo!" Kili called.   
  
"Stop!" Thorin said, his own eyes finding Bella's, dark and stormy and full of rage and worry. He looked quite set to kill every troll with his bare hands, but at the threat of Bella's ribs being crushed with one flex of the troll's fingers, he did the smart thing (if not the best thing) and dropped his sword.   
  
And at his move, all the others followed suit. 

\--  
  
"IT'S HOT IT'S HOT IT'S HOT!"  
  
Bella flinched at Nori's shouts, wriggling back into the dwarf pile when the troll that had caught her, only one hand working as good as it used to, glared at her murderously.   
  
It was a look that said "I'm eating you first, while you're still wriggling."  
  
She felt a shift at her shoulder and saw that Thorin was glaring back, giving space for Bella to wriggle back further. It was the first sign of protectiveness she'd seen in him since Bag End, and it warmed her for a moment, before the mundane conversations of the trolls caught her ear.   
  
"Wait! You're making a big mistake!" she shouted, standing up with some difficulty.   
  
"You can't reason with them, they're half-wits!"  
  
"Half-wits? Then what does that make us?"  
  
Bella ignored the shouts and went on, quite loudly, "I meant with the seasoning!"   
  
That seemed to catch their captors' interest.   
  
"What about the seasoning?"   
  
"Well have you smelt them? You're gonna need something stronger than sage to plate this lot up." Bella said with a convincingly vindictive tone. This riled the entire company up, but she couldn't let their protests get in the way of her plan.   
  
Was that Gandalf?  
  
Oh, it was.   
  
The sky was getting just a tad lighter now. Morning was coming, and she had to play this right.   
  
"What do you know about cooking dwarf?" one troll demanded.  
  
"Oof, ohhh, plenty! Plenty about cooking, plenty about cooking dwarves. In fact, I had THIRTEEN for dinner just a few weeks ago! Hm, it was the best meal this side of the mountain, I promise you."  
  
All she got for this was confusion, but she went on anyway, babbling quicker than they could make sense of her words.   
  
"Yes, yes, the preparation is important! You need a, a great big fire! Open fire, just like the one you have now.... and.... youuu have to..."   
  
To what? To what?!  
  
"... skin them first?"   
  
The whole company started shouting at that, threatening and calling for blood, angry at her 'betrayal.' Bella sighed. She didn't sign up for this, oh no.   
  
"Wot a load of wubbish! I've eaten plenty wiv their skins on. Scarf em nice and quick!"   
  
When Bombur was picked up, it sent Bella into a panic.   
  
"No, not that one, he's infected!!!" she shouted. "He's got... worms... in his... tubes!"   
  
How had she become so stupid, really _\--worms in his tubes?!_  
  
"They're all infected in fact! Parasites, you know! Rather nasty, not good for eating at all! Why do you think I haven't... cooked them up yet?" she said, grasping now.   
  
_Gandalf, where are you?_ she thought desperately.   
  
"Parasites? We don't have parasites, you have parasites!"   
  
_Save me from the slowness of dwarves,_ she added silently.   
  
Fortunately, they seemed to catch on to her plot, essentially shouting about how they were riddled with things that made them unfit for consumption--rather true, in Bella's honest opinion. After all, dwarves weren't the cleanest creatures in the world.   
  
It was then that Gandalf chose to act. He crept up from behind one of the enormous rocks that had fallen round the trolls' encampment, and with his staff, broke it in half, sending the sunlight into their midst.   
  
The light was harsh and wonderful, and it turned the trolls right into stone, as was said in the stories. Bella knocked on one of the trolls' feet and nodded satisfyingly, going over to help the others recollect themselves.   
  
"You fool!"  
  
At the harsh tone, she stopped, looking to her side and watching Thorin approach.   
  
"How could you put yourself in danger like that?" he demanded, his low voice harsh enough to scare Bella. He grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes boring into hers.   
  
"You are incapable of defending yourself, and yet you threw yourself into battle. If it hadn't been for your stupidity, the battle would have been won and we would not have risked what we did."   
  
"Excuse m--I saved your life!" Bella protested. "All of your lives, in fact! All your weapons and your... CAPABILITY with the sword could do you no good when we were tied up in sacks. If it hadn't been for me, you'd have been cooked into a stew!"   
  
She would have gone on ranting, even raised her voice, if Thorin hadn't suddenly put his hand over her mouth, silencing her as he said, in a quiet tone reserved only for her--  
  
"If it hadn't been for you putting yourself before me, you would have been able to escape. Too many times have you put yourself at risk for me."   
  
Bella felt the rage leave her, and her shoulders slumped as she remembered, long ago, the bandits and their fall into the river.   
  
"Never do it again," Thorin bade gravely, removing his hand and leaving her to speak with Gandalf.   
  
As he walked away, she watched his strong back recede and realized how much she missed him--all these years, and even within this quest, where he barely spoke to her at all.   
  
She missed him, and she knew she would miss him still, in the coming days.


	26. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella fears what she could be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've gotten to that point where I'm ashamed to post new chapters because actual non-canon stuff will only happen in the chapters after this one. So yeah, heads up, Rivendell stay will last a week or two rather than a day.

  
  
"Here."  
  
She startled, looking up when Thorin approached. Tucked against one arm was a beautiful Elvish sword, one that looked to be taller than Bella herself and just as heavy, though Thorin held it with ease. She wondered if he expected her to take it, when he took another blade from under his opposite arm, handing it to her, sheathed.   
  
It was a sword. Not like the one Thorin carried--it was Elvish, yes, but it was just her size. It was light, though it had the kind of heft she expected a real sword to have. It was beautiful, moreover, and she felt entirely out of place holding it.   
  
"Why?" she asked bewilderedly.   
  
"Gandalf suggested I give it to you," Thorin explained. "After the incident with the trolls, I agree with his reasoning. You need to have a weapon, to keep yourself from getting hurt."  
  
"To hurt others, you mean," Bella said automatically.   
  
"To defend yourself," Thorin growled. "To ensure that they're given no opportunity to hurt you."  
  
"I don't... I don't know, Thorin," Bella said, her voice shaking slightly. She sounded afraid, and perhaps Thorin interpreted her feelings as such, but it wasn't that. She wasn't afraid of the sword, or the prospect of fighting with it. In fact, she was excited. She felt that childish determination, the same pleasure the idea of a real battle gave her. The same excitement which nearly got her killed on many occasions. That was what made her afraid. The recklessness. The idea that she might lose her own wits if she allowed herself to enjoy the same bloodshed the dwarves seemed to accept, even revel in.   
  
"I can't," she said.   
  
"You must," Thorin said. "It is something we both agreed on."  
  
"I--"  
  
"Carry it, Bella," Thorin urged, placing his hand over hers, where she gripped it at the hilt. "In the very least, to ease my mind."   
  
When Bella didn't argue, too swamped in her own thoughts and confusion, Thorin took it as a sign that she'd accepted it. He left her to call the others and to make sure everyone was present and accounted for, and Bella sat quietly, staring at the elvish blade and telling herself using a sword only brought terrible outcomes, not glorious ones.   
  
"I don't think I've ever seen Thorin more amenable to my suggestions," Gandalf said as he walked up to where Bella sat.   
  
"Gandalf, I can't accept this," Bella said tremulously.   
  
"My dear hobbit," Gandalf said warmly, "I know what you're afraid of. I know you fear hurting someone, or taking a life."  
  
He was right, of course, as he was all too frequently.   
  
"It takes courage," Gandalf said. "Much, much more courage to spare a life, than it does to take one."  
  
"I could never use this," Bella said.   
  
"I think you could," said Gandalf. "It's an Elvish blade. And Elvish blades, even small ones, have this habit of glowing blue when orcs or goblins are near. It can be very useful to a peace-loving hobbit such as yourself, in that regard."  
  
Bella's spirits lifted at that. She supposed she might have some use for the blade--other than to ease Thorin's mind.   
  
Her ease very quickly dissipated, when she heard the echo of a growl, amidst the chattering of dwarves. Near her, Bofur froze, and she knew she wasn't imagining it.   
  
"Wolf?" she forced out fearfully.   
  
"No," Bofur said with the same fear. "No, that was no wolf."  
  
"Wargs!" Thorin yelled, just as the first beast struck, riding in from the high rocks that surrounded them.   
  
He slashed high, taking it down as it landed, though it stood again quickly. Kili shot it down, and it was dead by his second arrow.   
  
"A warg scout," Thorin said breathlessly. "Which means an orc-pack is not far behind."  
  
"Who did you tell about your quest beyond your kin?" Gandalf demanded. Thorin denied telling anyone else, and under the circumstances, Bella doubted he would have told anyone.   
  
"You are being hunted," Gandalf said gravely. "We must go, swiftly, before they find us."  
  
It was that moment that the brown wizard showed up, and Bella couldn't ignore the way her hand went immediately to her sword, almost instinctually.   
  
She couldn't even enjoy the novelty of meeting another wizard like Gandalf, too entrenched in her thoughts. Orcs, riding on wargs. What she imagined would be a grand battle (as a child, which was forgivable, though the excitement never really did leave her) was turning out to be more like her time with the white wolves--predator and prey, no hope of outrunning them and no hope of fighting them.   
  
Truly, she was afraid. And in her fear, she pressed closer into the Company, where Bofur deigned to put a hand on her shoulder, nodding carefully, as if to reassure her.   
  
And when it came time to run, it was Bofur who made sure she caught up--Bofur and his brother and cousin, who ran much faster than she ever would have given them credit for.   
  
Somewhere in the fray, pushed and pulled in the throng of thirteen dwarves, Bella found herself with   
Thorin again for a moment. As they hid behind the enormous jutting stones, he pushed her back, and Bofur took her again. She would have protested to being passed around, but realized why when she heard the puffs of a warg's breath right above them.   
  
Once more, she thought back to the wolves, to the proximity of their enormous bodies and their puffing breaths, and she felt her own breath shorten, her heart seizing.   
  
When Kili shot the warg and its rider, and the others beat them down, it was like the vise around her chest was released.  
  
And then they were running again.   
  
It wasn't long before they were surrounded... and not much longer than that before Gandalf pulled them into the safety of a pit, just as the warg scouts began to fall.   
  
"Elves!"  
  
Elves, Bella thought reverently. The beings her own mother had spent time with in her youth. Beautiful, long-lived...  
  
Long lived.   
  
Perhaps they remembered her mother.   
  
Before she could make any decisions of her own, though, the dwarves led her down the path in the stone, as Gandalf and his wry smile followed along.   
  
And only when they looked upon the little kingdom, the beautiful city that Bella had only seen in books and in her dreams, did she realize the cause of Gandalf's mirth.   
  
"Imladris," he said, smiling widely.   
  
"Rivendell," Bella murmured reverently as they made their way into the city.


	27. Elves and Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein a sensitive subject is finally discussed at length.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .... marriage talk!

_"I met many beautiful elves in Rivendell," Belladonna recounted happily. "Not that all elves aren't beautiful, but some more than others! Why, there was an elf whose long, golden hair was the envy of other elves. His name was Glorfindel, and he kept the library. And there was the bard, who I believe Elrond favored as his right hand--Lindir, I think his name was. He enjoyed a good song, and despite his strictness in enforcing rules in lord Elrond's house, he loved a good jaunty tune. Elrond himself was a half-elf, so rather than beautiful, he had more mannish features. He was always so comfortingly sure of everything, and so knowledgeable of the world. I could spend all day simply speaking to him of matters concerning Middle Earth and the other places and races north of the Shire. He had two sons, and a daughter. Elrohir and Elladan were twins, and Arwen was their younger sibling. She was so very radiant, but in a way that the moon is radiant in the evening. She would braid little shimmering glass baubles in my hair and ask me to tell her stories._  
  
 _"She told me I was beautiful. Can you imagine, an elf calling a hobbit beautiful?"_  
  
 _The elves were very good company, and always welcomed guests. Even dwarves, sometimes, though dwarves and elves don't always get along."_  
  
Bella understood more than ever her mother's words, when the elves welcomed the company for dinner. She very nearly laughed when she saw how bewildered they were at the table, and ate her own meal quietly, listening to the conversation unfolding between Elrond, Gandalf, and Thorin.  
  
"I wouldn't bother, lass," said Balin, and before Bella could manage to look surprised, the old dwarf gave her a wry look before continuing. "Swords are named for their great deeds in battle."  
  
"So you're saying my sword hasn't seen battle?"  
  
"I don't believe it is a sword," Balin shrugged. "I'm no expert on Elvish craft, but if I were to fashion something so relatively small, it would be nothing more than a letter opener at best."  
  
Balin's words stung, but Bella didn't let them discourage her. Letter openers were straight blades, after all, and certainly not the shape her sword (as she would continue to refer to it as despite Balin's words) was in. A dagger, perhaps. A small dagger, just perfect for someone of her size.  
  
The Elves led them to a large chamber, with a patio of sorts in front. The company, when the dwarves very clearly expressed their distrust, was not dissolved, and everyone gathered together, save for Bella herself.  
  
She accompanied Thorin and Balin when they spoke with Elrond in the library, and wondered at the books that were stacked ten or twenty times taller than her. She thought she saw a golden-haired elf passing through the shelves, and briefly wondered if that was Glorfindel, whom her mother spoke well of.  
  
When the moon runes were read and discussions were ended, and Gandalf parted with Elrond, she was surprised when two of the elves--almost identical in appearance, approached her in the hall.  
  
"It's uncanny."  
  
"We thought hobbits aged!"  
  
"But you don't look a day older than you were."  
  
"Perhaps a few days."  
  
"Just a few."  
  
Thorin tensed, but before he could do anything that might risk their good relations with the elves of Rivendell, Bella stepped forward, a tired but genuine smile on her face.  
  
"You're... Elladan and Elrohir?"  
  
Even rambunctious, the twins were entirely regal, giving her a small bow, soft inclines of the head, unlike the deeper, quicker bows that dwarves gave in greeting.  
  
"Miss Belladonna Baggins."  
  
"We have missed you."  
  
"Please," Bella said quickly. "Bella Baggins. Belladonna was my mother."  
  
"You look just like her."  
  
"Forgive us. We enjoyed her company when she was here."  
  
"Tell us, how is she now?"  
  
Bella swallowed, biting her lip ruefully. "She's um... Well, she's not with us anymore."  
  
"We are grieved by her passing," the twins said in unison, lowering their heads enough that Bella could see the sincerity in their words.  
  
"But we are glad to have met her daughter."  
  
"Mithrandir always brings the best guests."  
  
"Even the odd ones."  
  
At the sharp incline of Thorin's brow, Bella giggled. She tugged at his arm and encouraged him to leave the twins be.  
  
"We would be honored to enjoy your company in the morn!" They called after her when she was on her way.  
  
"I'd be glad for it!" she said in turn, patting Thorin on the shoulder. When they were finally out of earshot, Thorin muttered, "So you would prefer the company of elves to our own?"  
  
"Yes," Bella said, smirking when Thorin began to sputter. "Better than the company of gruff dwarves who don't want to waste their time on bothersome hobbits like myself."  
  
Thorin frowned heavily. Any other time, it would have bothered Bella, but in this situation it only put her at ease.  
  
"I have... many responsibilities."  
  
"I know," Bella said softly, rubbing a hand over his arm to soothe him. "You don't have to explain anything. You're a king. And kings have kingdoms to rule and people to lead. No use wasting your time making small talk when you're making grand speeches. I just..."  
  
When Bella trailed off, Thorin turned to look at her, clasping both her hands in his own large, calloused ones. Bella thought that, being older, Thorin's hands might stop seeming so big, the way she remembered them from before. But she was wrong. They were still much, much larger than hers, and always would be, she suspected.  
  
Her own hands were beginning to soften, but not in the maidenly way that had young men gushing. They were softening with age, calloused (but nothing compared to a dwarf's hands) and wrinkling, with veins where she often wrote and handled more delicate work.  
  
"What is it?" Thorin demanded, though his tone was softer than he'd been using all throughout the quest.  
  
"I don't want you to forget me," Bella said. "Easy as that is."  
  
"I never forgot you, Bella Baggins," Thorin said strongly. "Not once in all the years I spent--assessing, planning, gathering allies and raising my nephews to become the princes they're meant to be--did I forget you. Some days, the memory of you was all I had to keep me on this path."  
  
Bella's throat tightened, and she pulled her hands away from Thorin's, resting them against the front of her waistcoat.  
  
"It's quite embarrassing," Bella said, chuckling. "To be remembered for what I did as a child. I wasn't entirely sensible, especially then."  
  
"Yes," Thorin agreed as they made their way back to the others, "with your pocket handkerchiefs and your doilies."  
  
"Shush," Bella said, swatting him in the arm. "It's not as though I was prepared for an adventure. After all, forty years of sitting quietly doesn't tell you what's considered practical on a dwarven quest."  
  
Thorin's face fell. "I'd forgotten how much time forty years can be for a hobbit."  
  
"I would've liked it," Bella said softly, "if you'd visited. If you'd come to see me, even once, in all those years. Some days I wondered if you were even real, or if you were just something I made up as a child to comfort me when I was feeling odd, or lonely. But then my relatives would reassure me, with their talk of the oddness of my youth, bringing home dwarves and whatnot. Like some strays off the road."  
  
"Is that how your family saw me as? A stray off the road?"  
  
His indignant expression only served to amuse Bella more.  
  
"Much more threatening than that, I'm sure.  
  
Thorin grumbled something not entirely audible, and likely far from kind, but didn't pursue the matter he perceived as an insult.  
  
"I considered it," he said, when they were climbing the steps to where the company was staying. "Visiting. But I didn't feel... I didn't want to do it until I was sure I could give you what I owed you."  
  
"What you owed me?" Bella said, her eyes wide. "What do you me--are you saying you still intend to ma--to m--make me a princess?"  
  
"I am not a dwarf who breaks my promises," said Thorin, looking and sounding affronted.  
  
"Thorin, are you saying that you would go through the--the humiliation of marrying a hobbit past her prime just because you feel as though you owe me something!?"  
  
"You're much younger than you give yourself credit for--"  
  
"Thorin Oakenshield," Bella said firmly, hands on her hips and teeth gritted. "If I do get married, to whomever Eru intends, for whatever reason, it certainly won't be just because someone wants to pay me a debt. As though marriage is some kind of... business transaction! It will not be because of what I did as a child, either! No, it will be because of who I am, and who I will come to be."  
  
"Are you asking me to leave my oath unfulfilled?" Thorin said darkly, standing his own ground midway up the staircase.  
  
"I'm relieving you of your oath!" Bella said brusquely, brushing past him in irritation. "There. Now you can... forget about babysitting me and focus on your responsibilities. And despite what you believe, o king, I can take care of myself, thank you very much."  
  
"Where are you going?" Thorin growled.  
  
"To sleep!" Bella responded in kind. "After all, I have a busy day with the elves tomorrow!"  
  
The last jab was petty, she knew, but Bella couldn't deny the satisfaction she felt from seeing the last look of consternation on Thorin's face.  
  



	28. Coda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella Baggins never cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick filler, meaningful enough to be standalone.

Two nights before Thorin had departed, Bella had a nightmare. She didn't remember it the morning after, but what she did remember was that she cried.   
  
She never cried. Belladonna and Bungo had always thought it strange when Bella was young, that after her infancy, there were no more tears to be found in her, at least, not for what other children cried over. When she was injured, she would take it in stride. Sometimes, she'd even be proud of her scars, showing them off to her young peers and getting awed looks from both the boys and the girls for her gall.   
  
With Thorin, she cried. He was at her side in a moment, and allowed her to cry into his shoulder, caught in the tangle of his beard and hair. So little of him had changed over the years, apart from the dark locks lined like salt and pepper now, and the wrinkles that had deepened under his eyes.   
  
Bella would be lying if she said she had put the whole marriage business out of her mind. She didn't spend every day of her life moping, wishing Thorin would return, but she did spend a significant portion of what was considered the marrying age for hobbits thinking back to his promise, and wondering what it would have been like to wed a dwarf.   
  
It was a soft sort of fantasy, something she did with an academic interest, delving into books and histories and what she knew about dwarven culture from Bag End's considerable library. It was something that brought light to Belladonna's eyes, asking her what she knew about dwarves from her adventures.   
  
Bella was careful never to be too invested in the idea. It was something to pass the time, and nothing more.   
  
A number of weeks following Belladonna's death, the fantasy became a desire, a wish for something Bella considered might still be possible.   
  
She imagined that Thorin would finally return to her. She imagined that she wouldn't be alone for too long, while the wound was still fresh and Bag End still silent.   
  
After a year, she gave up hoping. Bella Baggins never cried, but for a brief moment in that long, dark year, she did, with no one there to comfort her. Not her father, not her mother, not her beloved dwarf.   
  
No one was left but her. Bella Baggins, master of Bag End. And that was what kept her. She alone was all that was left of her parents, she was the only one who could care for the home her father had built for her mother. And with that in mind, she buried all her impractical wants and unrealistic dreams and settled in, vowing never to leave.   
  
And eventually, breaking that vow.   
  



	29. Doomed loves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old secrets are revealed, with no consequence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter is short. 
> 
> I'm ashamed of how long it took me to even write, but things got busy and I couldn't think of how to continue. Also I was in Korea for a few days and Canada for the two weeks after so... been busy! In any case, if you're still reading, know that I am and always will be grateful for you all!

  
Breakfast was spent with Bofur, who was the only one bright enough to lift Bella's spirits. Everyone was too wary, too unsure of the elves that housed them. Bofur was just as much, but it seemed as though a grave Bofur was not Bofur at all, and the dwarf seemed to find something good in everything and everyone.   
  
Thorin sat away from the rest, in enough of a mood that even Fili and Kili dared not approach him. Balin shook his head when Dwalin showed concern, but for the most part, the rest of the company was unperturbed. "He's just brooding," Bella said. "What!? What did you say to him?" Kili demanded. Bella shook her head. "Nothing! He's just not pleased that we have to spend another week with the elves, waiting for the full moon."   
  
"Well of course he isn't," Fili said, joining the conversation at Kili's side. "After what elves did to him."   
  
"Dwarves have done him ill too," Bella said. "There's no reason to hate all elves just because of the crimes of some."   
  
"Don't let Thorin hear you say that," Fili advised, while Kili looked lost for a moment. "What dwarves? Who'd do uncle ill?"  
  
Fili clasped his brother's shoulder and shook his head, not pursuing the subject. Bella shook her head as well, going back to her breakfast without giving Thorin another thought.   
  
Later in the morning, the elf Lindir came to fetch her, telling her that while he suspected mischief where the twin sons were concerned, it was her prerogative whether or not she would be willing to spend the day with them, and that Arwen, their sister, had expressed an interest in seeing her as well.   
  
"I did promise lords Elladan and Elrohir that I would enjoy their company," Bella said. "It would be rude to change my plans now."   
  
Lindir sighed the sigh of the long suffering and led her down to a dais, where the twins were spending their time, holding some fine-looking stringed instruments in their hands. They seemed to be expecting Lindir, insisting that he stay to listen. Lindir, in turn, seemed to have perfected the effect of blanching while keeping the color in his cheeks, and he sat down in respectful reluctance.   
  
"They're not that bad, are they?" she laughed quietly, seeing the look on Lindir's face.   
  
Lindir huffed. "I'm the one in charge of their music lessons. They've never improved. I don't know if it's simply because their interests fall short of the fine arts or if they do it just to spite me."   
  
She was surprised to hear an elf talk in such a way, and smiled behind her hands as the twins began.   
  
Well... they weren't bad. But the way Lindir looked, they might as well have been taking saws to string.   
  
It was afterward that Bella found herself sequestered by another elf, the beautiful daughter of Elrond, the one called Arwen. She'd asked Bella to come with her to the gardens, where they sat as Arwen braided flowers into her hair.   
  
"Your mother had very beautiful hair," said Arwen. "A soft gold, with curls."   
  
"Yes, it was very beautiful," Bella said quietly. "I was always jealous of her ringlets. She was the envy of many of the Shire-girls, even after her little adventure with Gandalf."  
  
Arwen nodded solemnly. "Mithrandir loved her very much. He'd spoken very highly of many of those he'd met in his travels, but Belladonna was the one he cared for the most. But she was mortal, and it is even harder for one of his kind to do as elves might, loving a mortal."   
  
Bella opened her mouth to speak, but found that her throat had quite dried up. She knew... well, she knew that they were friends. She knew Gandalf cared about her mother, but there were many instances in Bella's life where she believed, strongly, that Gandalf had stopped caring. That every time he failed to come for her was a sign that he'd moved on without a care in the world. After all, who could guess what went on in a wizard's mind?  
  
Bella never would have guessed this.   
  
"Loved her? He barely even saw her, at the end," Bella said, a touch of bitterness in her tone.   
  
"I can't imagine what it might be like," said Arwen softly, "watching someone you love die. Us elves, we tend to stay away from such things. Doomed loves, and whatnot. Wizards, more so.   
  
Doomed loves indeed, Bella thought.  
  
"Thank you," she said genuinely. "And I'm sorry, but I need to find Gandalf."   
  
"I understand," Arwen said serenely. "And Miss Baggins," she called when Bella was on her way, her curls, adorned with flowers and braided in the elvish fashion dancing in the wind. "Find my father, as well. When Belladonna was here... she left something. She said that it was her intention to return one day, with her--her children."   
  
Bella smiled grimly. "She was disappointed in that regard, I'm afraid."   
  
"I doubt that entirely, my friend," Arwen said. Bella nodded, turning away before the lovely elven maid could see the tears in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still writing chapters with no visible effect on the main storyline? Yes.


	30. Coward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf explains, Bella revenges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE UPDATE in celebration of my finals ending. Thanks so much for the continuing support.

"You never have been very good at lying, old friend," said Elrond, shaking his head as Gandalf shrugged. He'd known the wizard for much too long to expect any sort of propriety that one would expect from one of his race.   
  
"You know I cannot abide by this quest," Elrond continued. "Abide by it or not, you cannot stop a dwarf when he's made a decision," Gandalf said.   
  
"Neither can I do so when a wizard has put his mind to something," Elrond said easily. They stood at the balcony overlooking much of Rivendell, the midday sun casting bright gold rays across the water. The leaves shimmered, the pillars shone, and the beauty of it touched Gandalf in a way that was unique to every place he'd come to love in his journey.   
  
"The hobbit," Elrond began, cautious in broaching the subject.   
  
"Hm, yes," Gandalf said, an air of forced casualness about his tone. "Bella Baggins. Although you'll be careful to say Bilbo, in the presence of others. She prefers to keep her true nature a secret in present company."   
  
"Bilbo," Elrond repeated, nodding. "A daughter, then," he added.   
  
"Hm, her only child," Gandalf said. "I'm afraid she didn't have the  constitution for more children."   
  
"She looks very much like her mother," said Elrond. "But more world weary. Older, than when Belladonna was here. How is she now?"   
  
Gandalf looked down, watching the deceptively tiny figures of Rivendell's elves crossing paths and going about their daily routines.   
  
"She passed away some years ago. Withered away from grief. She might have had longer, but like an elf... the death of her loved one took away the strength of her spirit, and she was gone in what seemed to be no more than a blink."   
  
"I'm sorry," Elrond said genuinely. "What then of your grief, my friend?" he continued.   
  
"Hrrm?" Gandalf grumbled.   
  
"All these years, and yet you still haven't learned to lie convincingly."  
  
"I simply don't have it in me to lie, my old friend," said Gandalf, with an air of great sadness about him. "I have never been a stranger to grief, but with every passing it grows with strength."  
  
"It is dangerous for those immortal," said Elrond, looking to the distance in remembrance, "to love mortal beings."  
  
"And yet, it is unavoidable," Gandalf responded. You of all elves should know that, peredhel."  
  
To that, Elrond had nothing to say.   
  
"Gandalf?"  
  
Bella rounded the corner, a bit anxiously, afraid that she might have come into something too important for a hobbit. Yes, in the Shire, her stature was high, but this was not the Shire and among the tall folk, high was the last thing that she was.   
  
"Lord Elrond," she startled, "I am sorry for interrupting." She bowed twice in her nervousness, which, to her surprise, the elf lord returned.   
  
"Not at all, Miss Baggins. We were simply having idle conversation, nothing too grave. And it is certainly to my favor that you've come here, as I have something to give you."   
  
"Please, if it's too much trouble," Bella began.   
  
"Not too much trouble, not in the slightest, if you would be so kind as to wait here while I retrieve it," Elrond said kindly, and Bella nodded as he took his leave.   
  
"You wanted to see me then, Bella?" Gandalf said, catching her attention.   
  
"It's not important," Bella said quickly.   
  
"We have the time, whether or not it is," said Gandalf, patting a chair low enough for Bella to sit on and taking a seat across from her. Though the chair was low for one of the big folk, Gandalf still loomed, sitting slightly stooped in the manner of one who was used to conversing with smaller races. "Now, my dear, what's on your mind?"  
  
"I..." Bella began. "I still want to know why you didn't come back. If you loved her like they say you did."  
  
Gandalf sighed, the sound echoing down into the chamber halls, and he took the time to straighten his back (though he did not avoid her eyes) before answering.   
  
"I've been alive for a very long time, Bella Baggins. Longer than I care to admit. Unlike men, or even elves, I do not become weary of the world, for the world grows with every moment and I have a task to see through to the end. But that does not mean that I do not feel as other races feel. I have loved many, many beings in my time. Friends, I considered them. Children, like ones that I watched grow. It is a rare thing for me to love as a man would love a woman, but your mother was the rarest of creatures, and I admit I didn't know what to do with myself."  
  
Bella chuckled, remembering how she would look at Gandalf and think what a bumbling hack of a wizard he was, before she knew what it was that being a wizard entailed.   
  
"I loved her spirit, and I wanted to see it flourish. So I took her on a journey, brought her here. She loved this place very much. I thought perhaps she might wish to return one day, before her end," said Gandalf, "but it struck home to me, when she was here, how much she loved her home. How much she missed it. When she returned, and married a fine young lad who cherished her and built them both a house of their own, well... she never wanted for another adventure again. I told myself that taking her away from the house she loved, which she shared with the hobbit that she loved, would be a cruel thing. But the truth of it is, I was afraid. I was afraid to see her die."   
  
Bella looked up from her folded hands and startled, seeing the grief in Gandalf's eyes. "I was a coward, Bella Baggins. That is why I didn't come back."   
  
In the long silence that followed, Bella considered her hands once more. She remembered when she was little, and she pierced her palm against a sharp stone while adventuring in the woods, and she remembered her mother kissing it better, and telling her how brave she was. It was an odd memory, one of many Bella would not let go of, reminders of what her mother was like before Bungo's death. No matter how hard Bella tried to forget that, it was what stuck in her mind. Thin, pale, lonely Belladonna who died from grief in the home she once shared with her husband.  
  
"Yes," Bella said quietly. "You were a coward." And she slipped away before he could say anything more, not that he seemed intent on it.   
  



	31. Chapter 31

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirrors of love and tragedy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should rename this fic "40% childhood shenanigans and 60% useless character introspective". More Bagginshield in this one :) And bonus Aragorn baby.

  
Thorin wondered when it was that he stopped thinking of Bella as anything more than an idea. The child she was was so long ago, but he didn't realize until the very moment he laid eyes on her in Bag End how long it had been. Where he had first met her at her life's beginnings, she seemed to be halfway through to the end when he came to Bag End. Only then did he realize how foolish he was, to wait.   
  
She was beautiful. That, more than anything, was what had struck him. It was a different kind of beauty than he'd had in his head--he'd always known, in that matter of fact way, that Bella would grow up beautiful. Her mother's golden hair and bright eyes were proof of that. It was enough, he thought, to please his kin, for dwarves appreciated beauty in its many forms (beards or no beards, really). And anyone who questioned his choice would be hard pressed to question her bravery or his honor.   
  
He was so sure of his decision to wed the hobbit, but never more than when he saw her again. And almost surely, it was the moment she caught up to them, a change of heart so startling that it showed in the bright, adventurous expression on her face, that he fell in love instantly.   
  
He realized then that he'd forgotten what it was to look at Bella Baggins and think of a person more than a memory. His ideal of her was what kept him going when it came to harsher, harder times, but it was the Bella Baggins whom he knew now that stirred his heart in a way it had never been before. She was beautiful in an entirely different way than he'd thought. Her hair no longer shone with the gold of her mother's. She was older, her skin soft around the eyes and at the sides of her worrying mouth, and she was much more serious now, her eyes no longer bright with the joy and innocence he remembered. But still, they were bright, with cleverness and wisdom, with anger and concern. Her smiles were rarer, but not so rare that he didn't chance glimpses of her mouth stretching into a saucy grin, her cheeks dimpling and the rings beneath her eyes disappearing with that show of cheer. She was different, but not so different still. Even worn by time, her spirit was the same, though her face, form, and name were different.   
  
Bilbo, he thought absently. A simple name, and a strange one. Such a small deceit, and yet it affected Thorin more than he'd let on, that she should decide to be another person entirely, as opposed to the golden haired adventurer of her childhood. And Bella's refusal, her rescinding of their previous... contract, made Thorin grateful that he hadn't yet revealed to the company his intentions. It was a humiliation that might have mattered to him more than the refusal itself, if he hadn't been bestowed with the odd misfortune of fresh love and the quickening of his pulse when their hobbit decided to accompany them on their quest.   
  
She was no longer a child. Of that he was reminded constantly, seeing her and the wrinkles that lined her brow and the rings under her eyes. He had the same rings--rings of grief, of hardship, and if he did not know Bella he would have doubted a hobbit could experience anything like what he had in his long life.   
  
And that was what it came down to. Thorin's life was, and would always be, longer than Bella's. While he had another hundred years to rebuild his kingdom before he was weakened by age, Bella had, at best, another fifty years before she died. Forty of the years that she'd lived already were lived in waiting, perhaps not in its entirety, but enough that there was a hole left in her heart, and emptiness that Thorin knew for himself. He'd had the same emptiness, waiting for his father to return in the years after Azanulbizar, and losing hope in the end.   
  
He'd made his hobbit suffer the same. It was a wonder she was no angrier at him than she was.   
  
He wandered around elvish halls without any thought, deep in thought after his encounter with Bella the night before (and also because he did not trust the place in any way, despite Gandalf's assurances and the elves' hospitality, and wished to know his way around the place in case he needed to make his escape). He climbed a rounded stair and saw a painting on the wall: a man raising a broken sword before a great, dark figure. He knew the name: Isildur. And he knew the sword, a look of surprise crossing his features as he saw the very thing, its pieces laid along a stone platform. He wondered why it hadn't yet been repaired. Perhaps the elves lacked the skill. He wouldn't have been surprised if that was the case.   
  
Thorin started, the sound of scurrying feet making him tense. His weapons had been put away in exchange for their shelter--something he'd never agreed to if not for Gandalf--so all he could do was fight with his smith-scarred hands.   
  
He relaxed, right then, when a child emerged from behind one of the elven statues, looking at Thorin curiously through the curtain of messy black hair that fell over his eyes.   
  
"You are no elf," Thorin said, standing at his full height--a head taller than the child, who didn't look very elvish to him at all. Then again, the Lord Elrond did not look like the cold faced elves of the Greenwood, so perhaps he was a relative.   
  
"Neither are you," said the child petulantly, confirming Thorin's suspicions. He found the rounded ear of the child peeking out from between messy strands, and wondered what a human child was doing in the halls of an elven house.   
  
"Are you of this house, child?" Thorin asked.   
  
"Yes," the child said immediately. "My mother and I live under the care of Lord Elrond," he added slowly, in a practiced cadence.   
  
"Yes... Lord Elrond is a very welcoming host," Thorin conceded. "But what is a human child doing, living with elves?"  
  
The child bit his lip. "We're safe here," he said quietly. "From the bad things."  
  
Thorin nodded his understanding. "We ourselves stopped here to seek refuge from evil. Myself and my company."  
  
"And the hobbit?" said the child.   
  
"Yes, indeed. Tell me, child, have you seen h--ah, the hobbit today?"  
  
"I saw her," the child said, nodding sagely. "She was with Mithrandir."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"The wizard!"   
  
"Ah," Thorin said. "And can you tell me where he might be?"  
  


\----

  
"She is quite cross with me," said Gandalf as soon as Thorin found him, sitting alone, puffing absent shapes out of his pipe. "You'll not find her here, Thorin Oakenshield."  
  
"Just as well," Thorin sighed. "She was the same with me yesterday. May I sit and smoke with you?"  
  
"Please. The elves disapprove of it, though."  
  
"Even better," Thorin said, taking the low seat and lighting his pipe.   
  
They sat in silence. For all that Thorin hated elves, he could not deny the sense of peace looking at the place in its entirety brought him. He could see through the gaps between the little pillars, see the colors dancing in the clouds with the afternoon sun, and the water falling off a cliff into a river below.   
  
"I brought her mother here once," Gandalf said. "It was an adventure, for Belladonna, if a small one. She wanted to stay, but in her heart, she wanted to go home. Tooks have adventurous little hearts, but hers, no matter how much joy she took from seeing the world, still yearned for the comforts of home."  
  
"I know you intend to marry her," Gandalf said, and Thorin flinched, trying to hide his cough in the small cloud of smoke that formed with it. "But she will miss her home. She is a Baggins, and Bagginses always love home, more than anything."  
  
"Are you saying I should just give her up?" Thorin said, his fists clenching ever so slightly.  
  
"I am saying that you should not think for a second that just because she wants to leave," Gandalf said, "does not mean she wants to leave you."  
  
"You have never been good at making your point clear, Tharkun."  
  
"Foolish dwarf," Gandalf grumbled. He sobered quickly, his next words startlingly grieved. "Do not leave her alone, and do not forget her, if she decides to go back. Do not make the same mistake I did. Do not wait for your beloved to die before you realize how much she wished you were there."  
  
Thorin swallowed difficultly, and nodded, though Gandalf was not looking. He was staring ahead, staring for a very long time. Thorin often wondered what it was that wizards thought when he saw Gandalf this way, but this time, he knew. This time, he could see the faintest of tears in the wizard's eyes, and he said nothing.   
  



	32. New promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night before they leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um. Hello. 
> 
> *ahem*
> 
> Extended edition references ahoy!

In spite of everything, the sight of Rivendell and its beauty tempered Bella’s insecurity. She spent her day looking over the sides of bridges or staring down balconies, wondering at the great and elegant structures.

 

There was a certain sort of peace here that she knew she might want to come back to.

 

She wondered if Erebor would be much different.

 

Sometime midmorning, she was resting her elbows on the rails of a balcony, when Lord Elrond came to see her.

“You are welcome to stay, if you wish,” he said.

 

“It is a lovely place,” said Bella, “and I would be happy to stay. But I made a promise to see this through. Signed a contract and everything,” she said, grinning, before her smile dropped and she realized what she’d revealed.

 

“It’s quite alright,” said Lord Elrond. “I had guessed as much. No matter what Mithrandir says, it’s obvious that there is more to the story of thirteen dwarves and a Halfling hiding her womanhood than a simple traveling party.”

 

“Most people wouldn’t abide by a woman on their trip,” Bella shrugged.

 

“Most people do not have a past they wish to give up for the sake of future endeavors,” said Lord Elrond. “Or am I wrong in my assumptions, Bella Baggins?”

 

Bella reddened a bit, and even purpled a tad, before she answered him.

 

“No, you’re not wrong.”

 

“What is your history, then, with Thorin Oakenshield? Few peoples know that hobbits even exist, let alone interact with them. I’d heard they’re private folk, who favor the comforts of home over hardship and… adventure.”

 

“He saw in me what Gandalf saw in me,” said Bella. “Youth and spirit. I still have the latter, but the former is fading fast, and I thought that maybe I could do something for myself before it’s too late.

 

“In an eyeblink of yours, I’ll grow old. It won’t take long for Thorin to realize that while his hair begins to fade to gray, I’ll be on my deathbed. I don’t want to be remembered as an adventurous child, or as a lonely hobbit spinster. I want the people who matter to remember me as the woman saw all of the world before age caught up with her.”

 

She looked shyly up at the great Elf Lord, wondering if she’d said too much, but he simply smiled, nodding his understanding.

 

“Do as you will, for your life is your own, my friend. But when the time comes and age weakens you, you are welcome to stay here. Live the rest of your days in our libraries and our gardens. If you wish.”

 

“Thank you, Lord Elrond,” Bella said, nodding. She doubted she’d be returning at all, whether some great beast would slaughter her on the trail or everything went well and Thorin made good on his promise, it wasn’t likely that she’d ever see the beauty of Rivendell again.

 

So she took in what she could before their inevitable departure, which, against all expectations, would take place two mornings later.

 

* * *

 

 

The dwarves invited her to take her meal with them, after they’d bathed in the Elvish fountains. They laughed uproariously about their escapade scandalizing passing elves, and Bella smacked her face with the palm of her head, shaking her head and cursing their impropriety in the more conscientious part of her mind. She was a hobbit after all. Even the most anomalous of hobbits valued good manners, and it pained her to realize that dwarves seemed to have none at all.

 

She crept away when they were distracted—surprisingly, not hungry—and climbed the steps above, illuminated by the high moon.

 

It was then she heard Gandalf’s voice, and Elrond’s, discussing the matter of the company, and of details of the quest Gandalf was trying and failing to justify.  

 

It amused her to see Gandalf fail in his explanations. Great wizard indeed.

 

“The throne of Erebor is Thorin’s birthright, what do you fear?” she heard Gandalf say, and she inclined her head to listen closer at the mention of the dwarf king’s name.

 

“Have you forgotten?” Elrond said harshly. “A strain of madness runs deep in that family. His grandfather lost his mind, his father succumbed to the same sickness. Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?”

 

Bella stepped back, unwilling to hear anything more. In doing so, she bumped into a sturdy body, and she gasped, finding Thorin standing right there with her, his jaw clenched and his eyes stony and distant.

 

He looked away from her, his gaze low. “Now you know the truth,” he said quietly.

 

“Thorin—”

 

“The madness does run deep in my blood, as it did my forebears. We lost our kingdom not because of a dragon—no, that was only the end of it. My grandfather was so greedy, his lust for gold so fierce, that he made enemies out of those who might have helped us. He made us enemies of other dwarves who we saw as our kin.”

 

He stepped back, Bella stepped closer. He turned to her, meeting her gaze reluctantly.

 

“I would make an enemy of my own people,” he said, gesturing to the company, “for the sake of gold.”

 

He breathed deeply, his fists clenched.

 

“My reason for allowing you to continue on is not entirely unselfish. In fact, it is the most selfish thing I have ever done. I have felt the madness creeping into my mind,” he said. “And the mere thought of you repelled it. The joy of you brought it home to me that there are things more precious than gold. Your hobbit love of the simple things, and you yourself, they seemed to cleanse me of the dragon sickness that has haunted me all my life. I thought perhaps that your presence here, now, the moment we took off to take back our kingdom, would ensure the success of our quest.”

 

Bella laughed quietly. “It’s not as if I didn’t know you brought me for luck. Thirteen is not a good number to leave with on quests.”

 

“I would have waited,” Thorin said. “Until after the quest. Until after I had taken back Erebor, made it into a shining kingdom worthy of you.”

 

“If you’d have waited,” Bella said, “you would have returned to an empty house, and I would have died of old age. So really, the wizard’s luck isn’t just for show.”

 

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a hug—for comfort, for reassurance. He stiffened at the contact, but relaxed into it rather quickly, resting his head low on her shoulder and wrapping his arms around her midriff.

 

“I love you Thorin,” she said. “And I know you’ll make a great king. I won’t marry you for old promises, but I will be with you to the very end. I promise that now, because now is all that matters.” 


	33. Fight, Friend, Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the chapter title explains everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to add a little more variation from the original film, and also probably maybe another pairing. We'll see where that goes. 
> 
> I'm working on my senior animated short thesis right now, so this is stress relief. Wish me luck!

They walked arm in arm for a short while. It was a reconciliation of sorts, and Bella was gladdened that they were on good terms, at least. 

 

When she looked up at Thorin to say so, she was startled by the grave look on his face—deeply thoughtful, in a way that looked troubled. She closed her mouth, biting her lip at the sight. 

 

“What is it?” she murmured. His brow softened, and he looked surprised when she spoke up. “You look troubled,” she explained.

 

“You like it here,” he said. 

 

Bella couldn't help but laugh. “Yes,” she said, “I very much do. My mother came here a long time ago, and it's such a lovely place. Even you can't deny how peaceful it is here.”

 

“I have very little regard for elves and their ways,” Thorin said with a sneer, tempered only by Bella crossing her arms pointedly. “But I cannot deny that this is a safe place. You should go back. Go home. Just as you released me from my promise, I release you from your contract. Stay here, for as long as you wish, and ask the elves to guide you back to the Shire when the time comes. If this is indeed the last homely house east of the sea, as they say, we will no longer be safe past this point.” 

 

“And mountain trolls trying to eat us for dinner is safe?” Bella said dryly. “I already told you—I'm with you, Thorin. 'til the very end.”

 

Thorin sighed. “I know not to talk you out of it.”

 

“Quite impossible to change a hobbit's mind once he or she has made a decision,” Bella said agreeably. 

 

“Then I suppose we must train you,” said Thorin. Bella was surprised by the suggestion, surprised that Thorin would be the one to say it. But yes, now that she considered it, with the little elvish blade weighing her down just a bit more, she knew she needed to learn. She thought back to her childhood, her wooden swords, and went on to think about what fighting had brought her during the Fell Winter. 

 

This quest had proven, even early on, to be more dangerous than hungry wolves. And though she had thirteen dwarves to protect her, she could not depend on them forever. 

 

“When do we start?” 

 

* * *

 

 

She was going to die. 

 

It was noon, the sun high above, and even with the cool breeze that seemed perpetual in Rivendell, she would surely die. Of exhaustion, of heatstroke, of whatever, without a word about it. Oh no, she couldn't complain, not when neither Fili nor Kili seemed even the least bit tired out. They were enjoying her torment too much, and she shook her head and raised her sword with wobbling arms once more as Thorin barked an order. 

 

“Oh shut up!” she shouted when Kili laughed, right as she fell on her bum. 

 

“You're not very good at this, are you?” the younger Durin said, helping her up. 

 

“I haven't had practice,” said Bella, shaking her head. “The last time I was in a fight was years ago—and that was against a wolf, with just a shovel.” 

 

“A wolf?” Fili repeated. “Why would you go up against a wolf?” 

 

Thorin approached, stopping when he heard the conversation. 

 

Bella opened her mouth and closed it again. She dreaded the telling before, but now it seemed important that she recount it. 

 

“Um... It was winter. The river froze, so white wolves came to the Shire, killing many hobbits in their hunger. I faced one, and all I had was a shovel to fight it off. I didn't do very well, to be honest. But I survived, and that was something.” 

 

“I didn't know,” said Kili. “I'm sorry, Mister Baggins,” he added genuinely. 

 

“It's alright,” Bella said, waving it off. “It's good for me to learn now. After all, this quest has its dangers, and I'll not be caught unawares, not again. So please, can we continue?” 

 

She grinned, lightening the grave mood, and Kili took her on in a spar. Thorin shouted no more instructions, and instead watched as Bella swung and parried, struck and blocked, with as much surety and strength as she could manage. 

 

When evening came, Bella could hardly move. Jokingly (or at least, Bella assumed he was joking), Bofur offered to carry her around on his back, until it was time for her to sleep. She declined, respectfully, giving the jolly dwarf a scathing look when he laughed heartily at her suffering. 

 

“Arses,” she said. “The lot of you.” 

 

“Now don't take it ta heart, lad. There's no shame in learnin' to fight. I couldn't move for days after the first time I sparred with my cousin. And I wasn't training with royalty, either. Ya did well today.” 

 

Bella looked up in surprise. “You were watching?” 

 

“Aye. Ye learn quick, that's fer sure,” Bofur said charmingly. 

 

It was heartening to have a friend in Bofur, and Bella smiled as she stretched her arms difficultly. “I think I _will_ take you up on that piggyback offer, if it still stands,” she said. 

 

He did eventually end up carrying her back to the room the elves had provided for her (for privacy, Lindir had said, knowing about her secret), and his 'goodnight' was the last thing Bella heard from any of the dwarves before falling asleep—not counting the whispers she heard, half-dreaming, and the soft kiss planted on her forehead before she was out again. 

 

* * *

 

 

The morning found her much of the same way the morning after the unexpected party in Bag End found her—waking up to soft rays of sunlight in the still quiet... and with every dwarf gone. 

 

“Those absolute _arses!_ ”


	34. A map

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A map.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahahahahahah

 

“Bella!” Gandalf exclaimed as he watched the hobbit stomp towards him.

 

“They left me!” Bella said, her tone venomous.

 

“Yes, they stole away in the night,” Lindir said, keeping in stride with the wizard, as well as with Lord Elrond, who was at Gandalf's side, glowering in a way that would have amused Bella, if she weren't in the very same position.

 

“You planned this,” said Lord Elrond accusingly. Gandalf balked.

 

“Of course not!” he said, not entirely convincingly.

 

“But you do intend to follow them,” Elrond said.

 

“Of course. Who knows what kind of trouble they'll run into without me.”

 

“I'm coming with you,” Bella said.

 

Gandalf stopped in his tracks, leaning down to meet Bella's eyes.

 

“Thorin must have had a good reason for leaving you behind,” he said gently.

 

“I have considered the reasons and deem them... unreasonable!” Bella said, stomping her foot. “You are taking me with you, Gandalf, or so help me I will go on my own. If I leave now I might still be able to catch them.”

 

“You will do no such thing! Gather your things,” Gandalf said, shaking his head and mumbling all the while. I will collect provisions. Then we will go.”

 

“It is unwise, Gandalf,” Elrond began, but Gandalf waved him off, bidding him to address Miss Baggins about it rather than him. Bella, on her part, gave such a glare that brooked no argument, that neither elf lord nor retainer could stop her as she stalked back to her room.

 

 

“You have acted abominably, Miss Bella Baggins,” she muttered to herself. “Your father would be ashamed,” she continued as she folded her clothes.

 

She felt ashamed enough for both of them, acting like a right monster in front of the elves. With Gandalf, she felt no such guilt, but her behaviour was appalling all the same.

 

But they'd left without her.

 

The Company had left without her, and was she not part of the company as well?

 

Thorin had his reasons for leaving her, but the others can't have argued very much. Perhaps they were all eager to leave her behind. Perhaps they didn't even notice.

 

Surely, they didn't consider her part of the company at all.

 

She slung on her coat and felt something bump against her hip as she did. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a carved wooden ferret, and she laughed heartily.

 

“Oh Bofur,” she murmured, for she knew the handiwork well enough. She'd seen him carving more than a few times over the quest, and he was the only one with the sense of humor to think to leave such a thing with her.

 

He was also probably the only one who would think to leave her anything before leaving her behind. The only one who'd miss her.

 

At least she knew now that there was _someone_ in the company who wanted her around.

 

“Thank you,” she murmured as she slung her pack over her shoulders and picked up her walking stick.

 

She was startled when she found Lord Elrond standing outside the door, looking down thoughtfully.

 

“I'm glad I caught you,” he said.

 

“I've made my decision,” she said uncertainly. “Th—thank you, for your hospitality.”

 

“As I said before,” Elrond said softly. “You are welcome to stay.”

 

Bella shook her head and smiled, not meeting his eyes. “If... If I come back... will I still be welcome to stay then?” she asked.

 

“For as long as you like,” Elrond said. “You are good company, Bella Baggins. Your presence will not simply be tolerated—it will be appreciated.”

 

“Thank you, Lord Elrond,” she said genuinely. “I... I wish I could stay.”

 

“Then why don't you?”

 

“I made a promise,” Bella said simply. “And I intend to see it through.”

 

“Then I wish you luck, Miss Baggins, but not before I give you this.”

 

He handed Bella a golden cylinder, decorated with vines and leaves, the lock made to resemble a belladonna flower.

 

"What is it?" Bella asked.

 

"See for yourself."

 

Bella slipped a rolled up piece of paper out from within the gilt casing, finding it larger than she'd anticipated.

 

"A map," said Bella.

 

"Indeed. It was created by your mother, and is unique to her experiences.”

 

Bella traced the red-inked path her mother had drawn on long ago, until her finger found emptiness, where the map ended. There was the faint hint of the rest of Middle Earth drawn on that map—most likely traced over a map already drawn before, but only ever so lightly. It cut off most of the land, that which Belladonna herself had never seen—that which Bella doubted any hobbit had ever seen. There was so very much, in this map. There were notes, things that you wouldn’t find in a regular map, ranging from tips on how to handle passing merchants north of Bree to warnings of dangerous creatures and poisonous plants in the wild along the great East road.

 

It told her much of what she already knew from her mother’s stories, and more still that Belladonna had left out. It was like she was seeing her mother again, for the first time in decades, and Bella couldn’t help but cry.

 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Elrond said solemnly.

 

“It was so long ago,” Bella said, shaking her head and wiping her tears away.

 

“And still you feel the grief as if it were new. She was your mother, after all.” He laid a hand on her shoulder. “You remind me of her. You have the same spirit, the same heart. But there are differences, as well.”

 

“I suppose my mother wasn’t in the habit of dressing like a man and accompanying thirteen dwarves in the wild,” Bella joked.

 

“Neither did she win the heart of a dwarf king,” Elrond said wryly. Then, more seriously, he added, “If you are to pursue him, be wary. There is so much ill luck attached to that line, and I fear you will be there to see when it comes to light.”

 

“I made a promise,” Bella said, repeating the very words that drove her. “And I know Thorin. Really know him. Whatever ill his blood might bring him, I know that he is a good person, deep in his heart. And I know that he will be a good king. So don’t worry, Lord Elrond.”

 

“So long as you will be there to help him become that good king, I needn’t worry at all,” Lord Elrond said encouragingly.

 

She rolled the map back up and slipped it into the box, which she placed safely in her bag. After she and Gandalf replenished their supplies, she bade Elrond and his children a heartfelt farewell, and a “See you again soon!”, and she and the wizard made their way over the mountain pass, leaving the peace of the last homely house behind them. 


	35. Riddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Temptations in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I've hit another difficult bit but I hope to get out of the rut soon.

Days passed, and though they did swiftly, Bella was beginning to feel anxious. The mountains that loomed close had an ill air to them, and she found herself with her sword in hand more often than not, gripping the handle until her palms sweat.

 

“Do not fear, Bella,” said Gandalf. “You are safe with me.” Though his tone suggested that, despite that, they were not safe at all. That even he felt what Bella did, a foulness settling on the land as they approached the mountain pass, where Gandalf had agreed to meet with the others.

 

A storm greeted them at the foot, and Bella could see strange shapes dancing in the stormclouds above. The mountains almost seemed to move, but that seemed highly unlikely.

 

At least, that was what she thought. When the first boulders, twice larger than even the wizard, began to fall, they pushed themselves against the rock, trying to find a foothold.

 

“Gandalf!” Bella cried, pointing to the sky above them.

 

All around, the mountains began to move, standing up and throwing parts of their own bodies. The world rocked beneath Bella's feet, and before she was even aware of what was happening, she fell.

 

“Bella!” Gandalf called, searching for the hobbit in the dark.

 

“I'm alright!” she called over the rain and the sound of crunching stone. And she was alright, having landed little more than twelve feet down, cushioned from the fall by her pack. “Gandalf, I'm fine!”

 

She got up, looking around her. There was nowhere else to go but before her, where she could see the mouth of a tunnel stretching into the mountain itself.

 

“I see a cave!” she called up. “I'm going inside!”

 

“Keep safe!” Gandalf called back. “I will find you in the mountain. Keep out of sight, do you hear me, Bella Baggins!?”

 

 _Keep out of sight from what?_ Bella wondered, though she dared not phrase her question. She hurried into the tunnel, leaving the cacophony of the thunder storm—thunder battle, she amended—behind her.

 

She ventured deeper into the caves, hand on the pommel of her Elvish sword. She could hear a strange commotion above her, and she would have attributed it to the stone giants, if not for her blade suddenly coming alight, glowing blue in the darkness of the caves.

 

“Orcs or goblins,” she murmured with a shiver, remembering what she was told about Elvish blades. 

 

She held it out as she continued further into the caves. She reached an opening where the narrow of the caves gave way to a great girth and an all-too-considerable height. She looked up, and high above saw rickety bridges made of wood hanging precariously from the walls and spanning in all directions.

 

She found a path leading deeper in, and heard voices she thought might lead her to her friends—although these voices weren’t familiar, and she was careful as she moved.

 

Behind a rock she hid, just as her blade went out. She tapped it once or twice, wondering why the blue glow was gone, but as soon as she heard a strange rattle echo off the cave walls, she went perfectly still.

 

Carefully, she looked out the right side of the jutting rock, and what she saw was nothing like an orc. She considered perhaps a goblin, but she saw the creature at its feet—dead and gone, and realized then why her sword was no longer glowing.

 

Whatever it was, it was neither goblin nor orc, but Bella had no doubt it was dangerous. She scanned the cave for an exit, but as soon as she spotted it, great eyes and jagged teeth greeted her and she backed up into the stone behind her.

 

“I tolds you, precious! I tolds you I heards it creeping about!”

 

It advanced, studying her with wide, strange eyes.

 

“What is it, precious? Not goblinses, surely not!”

 

Bella found her voice, and she shook her head. “I’m no goblin,” she said first. “B-but I see that you… you eat goblins.”

 

“Goblinses have no good meats on their bones, no good meat at all. But you—you’re a meaty mouthful,” said the creature, its voice rasping low, like the growl of a hungry animal.

 

Bella brought up her sword before it could come any closer.

 

“And you’re all skin and bone,” said Bella. “Easy to cut through. Stay back, away from me,” she threatened, trying not to let her fear show.

 

“It’s got an elvish blade!” it moaned, “but it’s not an elfs!”

 

“I am a hobbit!” Bella said, trying to keep the creature at sword’s length and backing around the stone behind her. “Not an elf, nor goblin, nor anything like you. Whatever you might be.”

 

“We’ve never tasted hobbitses before,” said the creature thoughtfully. “Is it nice? Is it juicy?”

 

“You’ll never know,” Bella said threateningly. She looked around, trying desperately to find an entrance. The creature blocked the way she’d taken in, and there didn’t seem to be any other way out.

 

“The hobbitses don’t know safe paths,” said the creature. “But we knows! We knows!” it added suddenly, as if in response to itself.

 

“Show me,” Bella said. “Show me now.”

 

“And what do we gets in return?” asked the creature lowly, entirely too frightening, and looking very different than it did before.

 

“I… I won’t kill you,” Bella said, swallowing. “That’s what you get.”

 

“We could kills you just as easy. We could,” it responded darkly.

 

“I… no. I’m not playing this game,” Bella said.

 

The creature perked up immediately, its eyes wide with excitement.

 

“Games! Games, we loves games! Oh, we’re very good!”

 

The change of demeanor shocked Bella for a moment, but she shook her head and tried to get around it, though it wasn’t distracted for long.

 

“Or we could just kills the hobbit and be done with it.”

 

“N—no. No. I want to play! I want to play a game!” said Bella, and she watched as the creature’s face changed once more, its eyes softening with delight. This was unlike any creature Bella had ever seen, or even heard of, but if she was going to survive, she knew she had to appeal to the side of it that wasn’t out to kill her—at least, not just yet.

 

“Riddles?” she asked. She was always good at riddles.

 

“Yes, yes, precious! Riddles, we’re very good at riddles. Me first, me first!” It jumped around, and for a moment, Bella thought she saw something fall out of what little clothes it wore. It beckoned to her, a little sparkle in the dark, and she almost didn’t hear his first words.

 

“What has roots, as nobody sees, is taller than trees—up, up, it goes, and yet, never grows?”

 

“Easy!” Bella said. “A mountain!”

 

“Does it guess easy, precious? We should rewards it! We should! What’s its name? What’s the hobbitses’ name?”

 

Bella was taken aback.

 

“… Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins,” she answered.

 

“Bagginses! If Bagginses’ wins, we brings it to safe paths.”

 

And then it stopped, its other side coming out quickly.

 

“But if it loses… well, precious, if it loses, we eats it whole!”

 

Bella considered her options. It wasn’t as though she’d go down without a fight, but if she could stall—even win, why not? She took slow steps around, and soon enough found the object at her feet—the one that shone, calling her to it.

 

“Alright. Alright, it’s my turn now,” she said, picking the object up and slipping it into her pocket.

 

A ring, she thought. A golden ring.

 

What would a creature like that be doing with a golden ring.

 

Perhaps he had found it. Or stolen it. Perhaps it was a thief, taking things that belonged to someone else.

 

She feared. She feared what it might do, if it found out she’d taken it. But she continued to play the game, all the same, answering riddle after riddle until it said, in its frustration, “Last question. Last chance,” in its low, threatening tones.

 

She fingered the golden ring worriedly, and she found she could not think of a single riddle that would stump the creature—which was as good at the game as she was.

 

“Ask us. Ask us a question!” it sad, and Bella bit her lip.

 

“I—what—what… have I got… in my pocket?” she said.

 

“What?” it said.

 

“What have I got in my pocket?” she repeated, gaining a vicious sort of confidence. She had it.

 

“W—what? That’s not fair! That’s not fair, that’s cheating!”

 

“You said ask a question!” said Bella. “That is my question. It needn’t be a riddle now, it’s what you asked for. Now answer me or let me win. Your choice.”

 

“Three guesses, precious! Give us three!”

 

“Alright. Go ahead.”

 

It looked down at her pockets and shouted “Handses!”, but Bella already had her hands out, one holding her sword. “Wrong.”

 

“… Knife!”

 

“No. Last guess!”

 

It went over quite a lot of answers from there, but finally, it shouted “string! Or nothing,” and Bella shook her head, grinning at its loss. “Two guesses at once! Both wrong. I win! Now you have to show me the way out! As you promised.”

 

“Did we promise? Did we?” it murmured, its voice low once more. Bella backed away, and to her dismay, found that she no longer knew where she was, and where she had entered from.

 

“Yes. Yes you did. I won. Let me out,” she said.

 

“What has it got in its pocketses?”

 

“None of your concern. Let me out,” she said again.

 

“What… has it got… in its nasty little pocketses?” it demanded.

 

Bella moved closer to the wall, and chanced upon a hole—a way out in the dark, and a tunnel beyond.

 

“Why?” she challenged. “Have you lost something?”

 

“… thief,” it whispered, and as soon as the word left its lips, Bella ran, slipping through the little hole. “Thief!” she heard it scream after her, as she disappeared deeper into the caves. 


	36. Down in Goblin Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strange things occur in their escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm busying myself with two Big Bang fics but I've gotten this surge of inspiration for this fic. Just not sure if people are still interested in it?
> 
> Also how would you guys feel if this upped a rating? And by upped a rating I mean got sexy? Yay or nay?

Thorin was never gladder to have left Bella than he was at that very moment, standing in front of the most grotesque creature he'd ever laid eyes upon.   
  
The Goblin King laughed, and laughed heartily at his plight, but he did not allow the words to affect him.   
  
But then, he said it.   
  
“An old enemy of yours. A pale orc, astride a white warg?”   
  
No. No, it couldn't be. Azog was dead. He had to be.   
  
He had to.   
  
Thorin roared his defiance, but this only served to amuse the goblin king more—who, for all that he was putrid and undoubtedly frightening to gaze upon, was much too clever and well-informed. Too much of a threat, one that Thorin would have dealt with already if they hadn't taken his weapons away.   
  
Speaking of his weapons...   
  
He really had hoped that the elvish blade would have staved off death, not quickened it. The fear with which the goblins beheld it was cloying, and they began to anger along with their fear, and there were convenient enough targets right there in their midst to take their anger out on.  
  
He tried, amidst the churning of the panicking goblins, to find a weapon—any weapon to fight with—when two goblins fell at his feet, their backs bleeding out from new wounds.   
  
And within reach, he saw his sword (elvish or not, it was his sword now), which he swung as soon as he grasped it, killing at least three more goblins in the process.   
  
“Fight! All of you!” he yelled, and the Company rallied behind him as they retrieved their weapons in the confusion—the goblins stunned by the renewed vigour of their captives.   
  
They followed Thorin as he jumped down to another one of the goblins' rickety walkways, away from the king and away from the goblins behind them, only to encounter those before them—hacking and bashing their way through.   
  
It didn't last, though their victories were numerous against the droves. For each goblin they killed, it seemed as though ten more would appear from the roughshod woodwork, and too soon, they were overwhelmed—trapped on either side, with no more paths to jump to.   
  
Thorin heard a gasp, and a distant, familiar call.   
  
“Thorin!” It came from above, and echoed across the walls. Thorin could have sworn that was Bella's voice, but that was impossible. They'd left her in Rivendell. And even if she'd tried to catch up, there was no way she would have found them where they were. She would have gone ahead, she would have been smarter, she would have—  
  
“Look out!”   
  
The fell out of seemingly nowhere, taking out a few goblins and leaving a few more gobsmacked, though they got over that much too quickly, hissing and screeching, compelled by the suddenness to react.   
  
Thorin picked up the ladder, not knowing what else to do, and the others supported it behind him, pushing Thorin into a charge that he very quickly led, roaring with the rest of them as they used the wayward ladder to knock goblins out of the way.   
  
They got to the end of the path and hurried down stone (thank Mahal!) steps, the goblins giving chase. They got down to the very bottom of the cavern, defending more than fighting, as they went, dodging arrows with sheer luck and ingenuity. It wasn't until they reached the bottom, though, that they found that they had nowhere to go, with a veritable tide of goblins bearing down on them.   
  
“What do we do?” Fili asked, his eyes flitting everywhere and seeing goblins coming from every side but behind them, where there was only solid stone.   
  
And just as the goblins were nearing, Thorin heard another familiar voice, and was jarred by the force and sound of boulders breaking apart, and a bright light coming from behind them.  
  
“It's Gandalf!” Dori exclaimed, and indeed, the wizard had come to their rescue, his bright, magic light disorienting the first wave of goblins that had come for their blood.   
  
“Here, quickly!” Gandalf yelled. “Run!”   
  
And they did, a distance still away to daylight, but so very close now—all they needed to do was get out.   
  
Still, as Thorin ran, mindful of his Company escaping before him, he could not shake the thoughts that plagued him—who was it, the first time, that had killed the two goblins, thus giving him the opportunity to strike? Who had provided them with the fallen ladder?   
  
And Thorin knew he hadn't imagined it, but why was it Bella's call, her voice, that he'd heard in the goblin caves?   
  



	37. Her choice (not his)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of the frying pan and

Bella had escaped from the creature, hiding in a higher crag which she'd climbed once she found her footing. She was breathing hard and deep as she shoved her hand into her pocket and felt her newly acquired ring there, settled against the wooden ferret Bofur had given her. It was chilly, solid, and secure in her hand, and it had a comforting heft to it as she lifted it out to examine it. 

 

It seemed such an awful waste to just keep it where it could fall out (as it had with the creature Gollum), and while she was not vain, Bella appreciated the beauty of the glinting gold even in the meager light of the caves. 

 

It struck her that, in her haste to get away from Gollum, she'd lost her pack--with her things, with the map, with the little box she'd thought would be safe and sound. Suddenly the ring didn't seem so bright, and Bella felt the sharp pang of regret. 

 

Absently, she slipped the ring on, for rings were meant to be worn, weren't they? 

 

The change was barely there--infinitesimal, and only after getting up and walking until Sting glowed in her hand did she realize what was different. 

 

She found stone steps leading up and the enormity of the caverns unfolding before her struck her, as well as the sheer number of goblins that seemed to come out of nowhere, all too focused on their prisoners to pay her any mind. 

 

Her companions were there! All captured, before the Goblin King himself--or what she assumed was the king, his sheer size and the bone crown on his generous and frightening head lending to the idea. 

 

She tried to creep closer, get a better look, and perhaps a way to help them, when quite suddenly, a stream of goblins came out of the caves behind her. 

 

She gasped, back against a support pole made of thick wood, holding her sword out in front of her to defend herself. 

 

But none of the goblins--not a single one--took any notice of her. 

 

As though she wasn't there. 

 

When one came too close, Bella's blade opened up a small but painful wound, and it screeched, looking around for whatever had wounded it. But even as its eyes passed over Bella, it seemed not to see her at all. 

 

Like she was invisible.

 

Bella looked down at her sword and at her two hands and wondered. This was some kind of magic--that was the only explanation. Elvish magic perhaps, protecting her from the creatures that would do her harm? 

 

That didn't seem right.

 

And then her eyes sought out the ring on her finger.

 

"It can't be..." she whispered. The goblin that she'd wounded was distressed, and ever closer did it move, forcing her back until there was nothing left to step on. Fortunately there was another walkway beneath them, and quite surely unseen now, Bella slipped down onto the safer path below. 

 

More goblins passed her, but they were gone in an instant, and they didn't even look at her, though she stood there clear as day. 

 

They didn't see her. She was invisible, and she knew that somehow, she had the ring to thank for that. 

 

So she did what she knew she ought to do—she went to rescue her friends. 

 

 

Her heart nearly burst out of her chest when the goblins moved to kill them. She'd done the first thing that had come to her, and killed the goblins that stood before her, allowing Thorin to retrieve his weapons. She helped them along the way, precarious as the situation was, and followed them down until they got out of the caves. She was elated, running down ahead of them and whooping, glad when she realized that she was still invisible that the others were too busy running to care. 

 

Ah, but they were wrong, weren't they! She was perfectly fit to be part of their adventure—she'd saved them, after all!

 

Oh but if she could just see their faces when they found out, and—

 

_But why should she tell them?_

 

The thought came unbidden, and she stopped. The ring she'd found was obviously a rare treasure, and she used it best. She was the quietest, and she'd done such a good job with it. 

 

_They'd demand it for themselves if they found out. They're dwarves. They always want what isn't theirs, especially when it's gold._

 

And honestly, if Thorin found out what she did, he would just force her to go back. He'd only become angry in his protectiveness of her, angry that she'd put herself in danger. She couldn't give them another excuse to leave her behind. 

 

She made up her mind and ran ahead, the dwarves having stopped to count their ranks. She slipped behind a couple of jutting boulders, resting against a tree as she took the ring off, putting it back into her pocket. 

 

“There you all are!” she called, catching their attention from down the hill. 

 

“Bilbo?” she heard Bofur say first. “It's Bilbo!” 

 

The others turned to look at her, and some of them—Fili and Kili quickest of all—ran over to greet her. 

 

“Bilbo!” Kili cheered, gathering her into a bone-crushing hug. “You have no idea how much of a relief it is to see you!”

 

“I have no idea? You're the ones who disappeared into the mountain. I was right worried, I was, when Gandalf told me to wait right here,” Bella said loudly, laughing when Kili put her down.

 

“I can't believe you came all this way just for us,” Fili said, his eyes wide. 

 

“Of course I did. Despite what you think, I'm not helpless. And I signed a contract. Wouldn't want to be ill-reputed just because I slept too late.” 

 

Their laughter was uneasy, for all but Bofur, and Bella knew that the company was not so ignorant in Thorin's intentions. 

 

She felt resentment rise up in her like a cloud above a mountain, and tamped it down only when Thorin came to face her, asking her with his jaw set and his eyes half narrowed under a worrying brow, “Why did you come back? Why did you come after us?”

 

“Because I made a promise,” Bella said. “Because it's my choice. Not yours,” she added, jabbing a finger at his chest. “And while you may be their king, Thorin, you aren't mine. I do not have to abide by the decisions you make, especially concerning myself and my safety.”

 

Thorin looked stunned, and Bella held her head high stubbornly. She saw Bofur look on with a twinkle of admiration and awe in his eyes, and she stood her ground, emboldened by the subtle support he'd offered her. 

 

“I can take care of myself. If you spend your time worrying about my safety, you won't be able to lead. I care about you too much to let that happen, and—”

 

Whatever Bella had left to say was lost in the howl of a great white warg, and all eyes turned to the hilltop as a terrifying figure was silhouetted against the darkening sky. 

 

“No, it can't be,” Thorin whispered. 

 

Bella looked on, her eyes wide with fear. 

 

“Azog.”


	38. Wargs and Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The memory of white wolves return to her, of blood and death. But it is no longer winter, and it is not snow that surrounds them now, but fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought of how I'd end this fic and made myself cry hahah damn

 

There were no stories of this pale orc from Thorin—none that Bella had ever heard in her own childhood. That omission made him all the more terrifying, all the more real. A dragon was fire and ruin, but so very far away now, with the great beast in the shape of a man, astride an even greater beast on four legs, standing on the precipice of the hardened mountainside. 

 

“Run!”

 

The setting sun overtook them as they sprinted down the hill, orcs in pursuit, still far away, but fast coming on their wargs. It was getting dark, and the orcs were so close, when Bella realized they were among the trees now, and the dwarves were jumping up into the branches, climbing out of reach. 

 

She leapt from a jutting stone, but was knocked out midway by an enormous creature. The familiar sensation of the air being knocked from her lungs brought back to her the pain in her sides—the scars from a long-ago bite of crushing jaws. 

 

She swallowed as much air as she could, her breath short as she watched the wolf circling back for the kill—the warg. The warg circling back. She could not breathe, jaws closing around her—but no, the warg was in front of her. No, it was not happening now. 

 

But it was about to. 

 

With a scream, she lunged at the beast, sword out, just as it lunged at her. The effect was that the warg impaled itself, snout-first, on the business end of the blade, the force burying the blade so deep that it was dead before Bella could be knocked down again. 

 

She yanked the sword out with much difficulty, watching as more wargs circled round the trees, trying to get to the dwarves climbing higher and higher into the leaves. 

 

Bella ran up to a tree and jumped with tremendous effort, grabbing onto the lowest branch. She made her way up quickly, breaking the branches as she left them to prevent anyone following up. One of the wargs jumped up and snapped at her, but she was pulled right out of its reach. 

 

Thorin held her close, his grip so tight she found it difficult to breathe again—but rather than bringing her fear, the gesture brought her relief, and she sank into the embrace as much as she could in their position. 

 

Though they were out of reach, the trees were thin as they were tall, and soon, the wargs and their orc riders began knocking and hacking against the flimsy trunk. 

 

The tree they were in began to tip over, jarred by the leaping wargs, and as it bent toward the ground, Bella grabbed Thorin's hand and the two of them jumped into the next tree. The others did the same as their tree began to fall as well, on and on until there was only one left—standing sturdy on the very edge, looking down over the valley in the steepest height Bella had ever seen. 

 

It was when even this tree was in danger did Gandalf use his magic, lighting acorns on fire to drive the wargs back. The dry brush took the flame and made it into a wall, keeping them safe. 

 

But they weren't safe—not truly. The last tree tipped, and they hung over the cliff edge, many of them hanging by branches that threatened to break beneath their weight. 

 

“Gandalf!” 

 

“No!”

 

“Help us!” 

 

Their weight would bring the tree down, and them with it. Bella knew that, and so did Thorin, she thought, as the dwarf stood.

 

But she saw the look in his eyes. 

 

She saw hot flames shining there, hard death as he raised his sword, and Bella took his hand again—only for Thorin to pull away, his stride quickening towards the pale orc—watching them with mockery in his scarred eyes. 

 

“Thorin, no!” Bella called, but he didn't listen. He heard nothing, saw nothing but the pale orc, and Bella watched as if the world had slowed, watched Thorin attack, his blade held high—

 

—only to be felled by the white warg's leap, crashing to the earth with his sword clanging against the rock. 

 

Bella wondered if she screamed. 

 

The great jaws closed over his body, the crunch seemingly louder than the yell Thorin released. Bella was frozen, and she saw herself in the jaws of the white wolf, her blood dripping down, leaving red flowers in the snow. 

 

But this time, there were no Rangers, swiftly riding in to save them. The wizard was just as helpless as all of them, unable to save Thorin as he'd once done with Bella. 

 

Dwalin tried to leap to his aid, only for his branch to break near in half, leaving him hanging more precariously than before. 

 

There was no one. 

 

No one but her. 

 

She stood, the world falling away, but for her grip on the elf blade's handle and the sight of Thorin thrown aside, crashing down and laying still, as if he were dead. 

 

Still, he moved, just as the orc with spines arranged like a collar around its head came forward, forcing Thorin back down when he tried to get up again. 

 

Bella was there before she even realized it. Black orc blood sprayed across her face as she slashed, and then she stabbed the orc right through the heart, face-to-face with the creature as the sound of its last breath punching out of it, and the sight of the orc's life leaving it from the great circles in its eyes, greeted her. 

 

She ran to Thorin's side, standing as tall as she could make herself and holding the sword out threateningly to any who came near. She swung hard when one warg did, cutting through its nose and effectively driving it back whimpering. 

 

Her eyes were wide and mad, glancing between Thorin's still body (eyes closed, breaths no longer coming) and the enemy, more afraid than she'd ever been—and braver than she'd ever felt in her whole life. 

 

When Fili and Kili came to help, the great beating of her heart in her ears did not stop, and she fought as well, charging and slashing (low, around the feet, both of the wargs and their orc riders—just as she was taught so long ago) 

 

She fought and she fought, staying close to Thorin in fear that they would take him away from her given the chance. 

 

They were not winning, but they were not losing either, and Bella heard a great scream—striking fear In her, before she realized that the scream was nothing like any scream she'd ever heard. 

 

Nothing like a scream at all, but more like... a screech. 

 

“Eagles!” Kili said. “There are eagles!”

 

Bella watched—they all did—as eagles bigger than even the biggest of the orcs on their wargs descended, plucking dwarves from the fallen tree and crushing wargs and orcs, or throwing them off cliffs, or using their wings to burn them alive. 

 

The wind sent her hair flying wildly about her, and part blinded, Bella could not react fast enough as one of the eagles (it seemed to her the biggest one, though she could not truly tell) came down and rolled Thorin into the soft grip of its claws—deliberate and gentle, carrying him out of harm's way. 

 

Bella watched as his oaken shield fell from his arm, left forgotten on the stone, and she felt a pang in her heart that she could not explain—though it hurt, it hurt so much that she clawed at her chest with one hand. 

 

She wanted to reach for it, but then it was her turn—another eagle plucking her right off the ground and flying her for a brief moment over the edge before dropping her—right onto the back of another eagle, just as the other dwarves were. 

 

It occurred to Bella that they were safe, but still she searched the flock—the fleet, or whatever they were—of eagles until she found Thorin, in the grip of what was indeed the biggest eagle, a veritable king. 

 

 _The king of eagles carrying the king in exile,_ Bella mused. Her relief overtook her, and she laughed and cried, burying her burning eyes in the soft down of the eagle's feathers. The eagle in question screed softly, as if to comfort her, and she laughed again, the world opening up before them as they flew further and further away from what had been their imminent death—so distant now, as distant as all that they'd left behind, from Bella's precious things to the very oaken shield that had given Thorin his name. 

 

And it brought to Bella, very clearly, that they had reached a new chapter in their story, and that things would change very soon, blowing on the very wind that had them now. 

 

 

 

 

 


	39. Peace in the wood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resting under the Carrock, among the trees, by a stream, in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrible at this romance thing. Just got out of a stressful first week of thesis, and I'll be jumping back again fairly quickly, just wanted to drop this off :) 
> 
> If you're one of those people who may be squicked by romance after the first couple of chapters of child!Bella, well, the romance is finally happening, so do as you will.

When they landed on the Carrock, Bella ran to Thorin's side, hovering in fright as Gandalf healed him of the worst of his wounds. 

 

“Thorin?” Bella called weakly, her voice failing her as her knees did, trembling before collapsing entirely. She clutched one of his limp hands, hoping against all hope that he was only sleeping, that he would awaken and stand with the strength she knew so much of. 

 

Fili and Kili stood aside, though their trepidation kept them back, their breaths held as their uncle lay unmoving. 

 

Bella was the first to know, when she felt the infinitesimal squeeze of great fingers around her smaller hand. 

 

“Thorin,” Bella gasped, and he opened his eyes, casting his gaze beyond her, before his eyes settled on her in clarity. 

 

“If I am dead, then I am all the better for it, if this dream is what has awaited me,” he murmured, so quietly that only Bella heard. 

 

“Oh, you foolish dwarf,” she cried. “You are safe. We are all safe.” 

 

Fili and Kili came forward, lending their arms and shoulders and helping their uncle-king stand, and he faltered for only a moment before standing tall, in the confidence of his Company. 

 

“Who is foolish? I, or the halfling that leapt in front of orcs and wargs many times our size to defend me?” Thorin said, his voice rough. 

 

“I would say the foolish one is the dwarf who thought he could face a mounted orc head-on,” Bella said, crossing her arms challengingly. 

 

Thorin frowned at her, stepping slowly closer until they were a foot apart, their eyes meeting one another's. 

 

“Perhaps we are both foolish. I, for leaving you in my fear that you would not survive this journey, and you for coming along anyway.” 

 

His tone was soft, almost cheeky, and Bella bit her lip and smiled. “Then we are both fools, o king,” she said, raising a brow and grinning saucily. “One of us more than the other.” 

 

“I am sorry I doubted you,” said Thorin, bowing his head earnestly. “I should have known better. You are well and beyond capable of caring for yourself, and I am honoured to have you as part of this Company. If you are still willing, Master Bilbo Baggins.” 

 

“Willing and ready, Master Thorin,” Bella said, her smile unfaltering. 

 

When Thorin enveloped her in a warm embrace, she melted into the touch, and the Company cheered for her, for them, and for their luck in surviving what could have well been their end. 

 

“Look there!” 

 

“Is that—”

 

“It is!” 

 

Thorin released her, and the two of them looked beyond the rock they stood on, beyond the trees and fields, and they saw it—shrouded in mist, bathed in sunlight. 

 

“Erebor.”

 

Bella's breath caught. So distant, and yet... “We are so close,” she murmured. 

 

“Soon we shall be home,” said Thorin, and only when he wrapped one arm around Bella's shoulders did Bella realize what he'd said. 

 

 _ **We'll**_ _be home,_ he'd said. We. 

 

And Bella's heart fluttered at what was to come, and what might be, in their future. 

 

* * *

 

 

They took their rest at the foot of the great stone where the eagles had left them. 

 

“We have a night and day's rest, before Azog can even begin to catch up."

 

“We can rest in the day, and hasten in night, for that is when the orcs travel swiftest,” said Thorin in reply to Gandalf's prediction. 

 

“There is a stream nearby. It will be good for all of you to wash what wounds you have,” said Gandalf, giving Thorin a significant look. Thorin nodded, the sting of smaller wounds still fresh along his face. 

 

“And I know Bilbo will appreciate the wash as well,” said Gandalf, more to himself than anything—though Thorin couldn't help hearing it. “I know of the fussiness of hobbits, and even the most adventurous need what little comfort they can take.” 

 

“I will make sure nobody bothers Master Baggins when it comes to that,” Thorin said, and it eventually did come to that, when Gandalf announced the presence of the stream. Bella's face lit up like a lantern, though it soon fell when she realized that she had no pack, and no decent change of clothes. She had her coat, which was just as well, but she would have to wash her garments as well before she could consider herself even partway clean. 

 

“There is a place upstream, if you wish for some privacy,” Thorin said softly when he approached her. 

 

“I'd like that,” Bella said, nodding. 

 

He guided her to the spot, further up the stream, where the trees seemed to guard the water, leaning over it like a convening council, with bushes at their roots. 

 

Bella took the time to wash her coat first, hang it dry by the time she was ready to bathe. She looked to Thorin, who'd stood there wordlessly, leaning against the broad base of the tree. 

 

“Aren't you going to join the others?” Bella asked, listening for the distant sounds of the company enjoying the wash. 

 

“I will stand guard here until you've finished,” Thorin said, inclining his head like it was an obvious answer. “With what we've encountered already, you don't think I would leave you unguarded in a wild place. And there is no one else in this company who knows your secret—no one but Balin, who is trustworthy in his discretion.” 

 

Bella was barely distressed by this information, though she made a note to herself to speak to Balin about it later. 

 

“Was it Balin who convinced you to leave me behind in Rivendell?” 

 

“Ah, no. I knew your mother came to Rivendell when she was young, and after the misfortunes we'd faced already, I thought you would want to stay somewhere peaceful.” 

 

“I wanted to stay with the company,” said Bella pointedly. “Do not come into the habit of making my decisions for me, Thorin. You make poor ones with regards to my intentions.” 

 

Thorin cracked a small smile. “I'll keep that in mind.”

 

Bella softened as her eyes found the bruises, scars, and other such wounds marring his face. “How are your wounds?” 

 

“Better than they were, thanks to Gandalf.” 

 

Bella came over, carefully cupping his face with both hands, running her newly washed fingers very gently over the contours, pausing when he hissed, however quietly it was. 

 

“We should wash those out in the stream. Come on.” 

 

She took his hand and led him over to the dipping root where she sat him down, helping him out of his heavy gear. She would have left on the tunic, but Thorin removed it before she could utter a word, and her heart stopped when she saw the deep-coloured bruises along his ribs, blooming in purples, reds, blues, and sickly yellows at the edges. 

 

There were cuts as well, where the armour scratched skin, and Bella washed the open wounds quickly with the tiny rag she'd kept in her pocket. 

 

“You can imagine how much of my world shattered when I found out that the great Thorin Oakenshield could be felled,” she murmured. “Good thing I learned that lesson early in my life, or I might not have known to act.” 

 

“I am weaker than you made me out to be as a child,” Thorin said, his low voice rumbling against his chest, under her hands. 

 

“No. No, you were strong. Are. Are strong. You always seemed larger than life, even then, with your broad shoulders and your solid frame. Even when I was all grown to adulthood, you still seemed so much greater than you were.” Bella sighed, taking his hands and washing the tiny pinpricks there, brought about by sharp stones digging into his flesh. 

 

“And even when you were a prince, you were more kingly than anything or anyone. If there was ever a man, elf, or dwarrow deserving of the crown, it would surely be you.” 

 

Thorin pulled his hands away and took Bella's into them one of them, grasping deliberately while his other hand lifted her chin. 

 

“I would have you in a crown, just as well-deserved, by my side,” he said. “Not for any promise,” he said quickly, when Bella opened her mouth to protest, “but for what I have seen you to be now.” 

 

Bella huffed, looking somewhat amused. “A hero?” she said, her tone almost entirely self-depreciating. 

 

Thorin tilted her head up again. “A beautiful, brave hobbit, who I love. Who I loved again when her loyalty led her back a second time, when her intrepidness had her running after us, contract flying in the wind, the first time.”

 

She opened her mouth to speak again, but found that she could not for the thickness in her throat that threatened to spill tears, so instead she pulled back, loose fist against her mouth, and the first words she was able to let out were “You love me?” in the softest of whispers. 

 

“I am ashamed that I ever made you doubt that,” said Thorin, pressing his forehead to hers in a gesture that was so painfully tender that Bella wondered what it meant for dwarves to do it in such a manner. 

 

She figured it out fairly quickly. 

 

“This,” she said, tilting his head back. “This is how hobbits kiss,” she said, pressing her lips to his, trembling at the scratch of beard against her chin. 

 

They stayed like that, nestled together on the low root, for a very long time, wrapped up in each other in such peace and soft passion that none dared disturbed it, if anyone knew of it. 

 

Though there was one, standing in the midst of the trees, eyes wide at the sight. 

 

Quick as he'd come, Bofur trotted off, to rejoin the company, and if he purposefully kept the rest of the Company from going out looking for their wayward king and hobbit, then it was no one else's business but his own. 

 


	40. Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Present, future, and prospects of friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thesis has been killing me softly. I hope the next chapter will be at least three times longer than this one xP

Bella was red across her freckled shoulders, hands wrapped around herself to cover her bare breasts. She quivered with something between excitement and fear, with a dash of impatience, as she sat in the shallow of the stream (which came up to her shoulders) with her hair wrapped high out of the water and completely bare.

 

Thorin slipped in front of her, keeping some semblance of innocence about them both, despite the (very tempting) circumstances.

 

She pressed her knuckles against the knots in Thorin's shoulders, massaging out the tension and the pain that came with it. Her fingertips gently touched his sides, careful not to aggravate his wounds, and the mottled bruises that decorated his ribs.

 

Bella ran her fingers through his hair, washing it as thoroughly as she had her own. When she was done, she draped her arms over his shoulders and let him rest against her, more serenity in him than she'd seen in the last forty or so years (though, she amended, there was a fair number of years she'd spent away from him that he might have had some peace).

 

She nuzzled his hair and took a deep breath, taking him in. There were tears in her eyes, though she hid them in the damp of the flowing water.

 

She had come so close to losing him. So close. It was not an experience she was willing or ready to repeat.

 

Perhaps there was something in the way her shoulders shook, but Thorin's hands held hers in comfort, and he raised them to his lips to kiss. The gesture only made Bella cry harder, though her sobs were silent in the stillness of the grove.

 

“I don't want to lose you again,” she murmured, and Thorin turned to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, one hand braced against the back of her head. He held her under his chin and comforted her, whispering encouragements and endearments that she could not understand.

 

“Look at me,” she muttered. “Not so terribly brave anymore. Crying at every little thing.”

 

“I've seen many brave men cry, often after a battle. It has always been a sign of life after what could very well have been death,” Thorin rumbled.

 

Bella looked up. “When was the last time you cried?” she wondered.

 

“I... I don't remember,” Thorin admitted.

 

Bella thought that said very much about him, but remained silent.

 

Nothing more happened in that little stream. Once they were clean, they dried off, and in their clothes (dried on the low-hanging branches of trees and over bushes), the moment was broken, and Bella was back to her secretive role as Bilbo and Thorin as the king he was—but much less of the Thorin she knew him to be.

 

Speaking of secrets, she had to talk to Balin sometime soon.

 

They returned to camp, settled to rest, and Bella set her bedroll close to where Thorin sat against the stone. She slept there in comfort, until the hours passed and they were off again.

 

* * *

 

 

“What was it like in Erebor, auntie Bella?”

 

“Oh, well that would depend on when in Erebor you are referring to. Thorin told me stories about how it was before the dragon—the grandest kingdom Middle Earth had ever seen, and even in ruins I could see what he meant.

 

“Great pillars of stone, made in the image of past dwarf kings, eight hundred times my size, or more! Finely crafted stairs, paths, and archways, and words carved into the walls detailing the rich history of the dwarves. When Erebor finally came back to life, after so many years of abandonment, you could see little lights glimmering in the household windows—built into the stone. Ingenious really. I should take you sometime, to visit, if I can. Perhaps when Balin comes along, we'll go with him! If he comes along—he hasn't sent any letters lately. Shame, that.”

 

Froda smiled, her eyes wide and glimmering with her imaginings of the place her aunt so richly detailed in her stories.

 

“I hope we visit one day,” Froda said.

 

“So do I, my dear lass. I do miss the place,” Bella sighed. “It was home, after all. Even for a little while. Soon, perhaps. Soon.”

 

* * *

 

Bofur was not a loud-mouth dwarrow.

 

Well, he was, in a way, but he also wasn't.

 

He blathered on about this and that, but he never revealed secrets. He always kept the confidence of his friends, and he prided himself on his protective nature, especially when it came to the ones he cared about.

 

He cared about Bilbo. But he also wondered how she came about cavorting with his royal gruffness, since the journey didn't much prove that Thorin had warmed to her.

 

Oh, he supposed saving his life did something, but really!

 

And another thing—Bilbo, a woman! He should have known! But he couldn't be blamed. Hobbits were odd creatures. Beardless, soft, big feet, curly hair—Bofur couldn't be blamed for not knowing the difference between their menfolk and their womenfolk. The only sign was the clothing they wore, and a hobbit lass would be a right mystery if she decided to dress how a hobbit lad was known to.

 

So, to summarize—Bilbo was a woman, and she and Thorin had decided to throw caution and propriety to the wind and decided to pursue each other in passions that could not be cooled by river water, or so Bofur observed.

 

Bofur sighed. What a shame. He really did like Bilbo, quite a lot. Was interested in fact, despite the foreignness, and the beardlessness. But it was clear who she'd chosen—and anyway, Bofur had no interest in women.

 

Friends, then. They would be friends. Good friends, of course! Perhaps best friends, if she allowed it. Bofur grinned at the prospect, and stood steadfastly at Bilbo's side until Gandalf sent her off to scout.

 


	41. The house

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we kick off DoS with wargs and running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated in forever since thesis took over my life, but I passed my internal defense and felt the need to start this up again. Thank you for all the people who have left kudos and commented. You mean so much to me, and it's for you I continue this. 
> 
> I hope to get back into the swing of things, with a solid idea of where this is gonna go. It's been nice to stretch my writing muscles again. I'm out of shape.

 

She was almost certain she'd be caught simply by how loud her heart seemed to thump in her chest as she hid behind the rocks. She could see Azog's towering figure, riding over the mountain on his warg, flanked by orcs nearly as frightening and gruesome as he, some even more gruesome than he (though none more frightening than the legendary orc general, who haunted Bella's dreams in the short, fitful sleep they'd been allowed).

 

She heard a growl too close and too low to be from the wargs and froze in place, her gaze drifting left and falling upon a creature that would almost surely take Azog's place as chief nightmare when next she slept.

 

“There's something else out there,” she whispered urgently when she got back to camp. “Azog is nearing, we must go, but there's something else out there and it's much bigger than any warg.”

 

“What form did it take? Like a bear?” Gandalf asked.

 

“I—yes. Yes! How did you—?”

 

“You knew about this beast?” Bofur interjected, and the other dwarves muttered anxiously until Gandalf said, “I know a place nearby, where we can find rest. A house.”

 

“What good is a house against a pack of warg-riding orcs?” Dwalin demanded to cries of agreement.

 

“This house has stood for years against threats of all kinds. Its owner is a friend to those seeking shelter from the plague of orcs... but he is not fond of dwarves,” Gandalf conceded darkly.

 

“There's always something,” Bofur sighed.

 

A rumbling roar echoed down the path from higher on the rocky peaks, shaking both the earth and the dwarves standing together, huddling closer defensively. Bella found herself pulled to Bofur's side, and abject fear made it so that she didn't mind in the slightest.

 

“What choice do we have?” Thorin said.

 

Bella winced, expecting the answer but not liking it one bit.

 

“None.”

 

* * *

 

 

After all the running they'd done before, Bella thought she might have gotten used to it already.

 

… Well, she _did,_ but it wasn't any less horrible the second time around. 

 

She saw the house across the great field, with its stone walls thick with green, and even as she was running for dear life she noticed the garden in the courtyard, and wondered how such a pleasant home could have survived and thrived in such a dangerous environment. 

 

Her thoughts were torn away from the garden, however, when the enormous bear-creature slammed against the stable doors, just barely kept out by the heavy wooden door, barred effectively by the dwarves slamming it shut. 

 

Gandalf seemed much too deep in thought for someone who was just running for his life. 

 

“What is that?” Ori gasped. 

 

“That,” Gandalf said, and Bella winced again, wondering when Gandalf would stop giving such terrible news with such an unaffected tone, “is our host.” 

 

“We will rest here tonight,” he continued, and Bella saw that, even with all the fuss they'd gone through getting there, it was a good place to sleep. Better, certainly, than the hard, uneven stone beds they'd had over the course of their journey. She must have been pretty far gone to consider haystacks and a stone floor a luxury, she mused. At least they were back on flat ground. 

 

The bear seemed to have gone, tired or uninterested in the ones who'd invaded its—his?—home. She looked to Thorin as they settled in to rest, and he met her gaze, but did nothing more. They had no privacy here, and it was the only thing she would miss from their time in the wild. 

 

“I'm sure if ye set up to sleep beside our noble leader over there, no one will think it strange. Just don' get too close, mind,” Bofur said with a wink. Bella opened her mouth and closed it again, not knowing what to say. 

 

“I know yer secret,” he whispered conspiratorially. “But don' worry. I'm good at keepin' secrets.” 

 

Bella smiled uncertainly, laughing when Bofur mussed her hair with all the affection of the friendship they had between them. Relief seeped into her bones, and she did as he told her, subtly setting up beside where Thorin meant to sleep. 

 

The dwarf raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, the slightest of smiles on his face. Bella reddened, reminding herself of the company. Looking for something to distract her, she found the ring in her pocket, and for a moment, was able to take her mind off of everything and everybody around her. 

 

“Sleep well tonight, Bella,” Gandalf bade, and she pulled her hand out of her pockets and turned to him with an expression she hoped was innocent. “I have something important to tell you when you wake.”

 

“Not now?” 

 

“No, not now. Not until I know we're safe.” 

 

Bella nodded, sighing as she drifted off, comforted by the pillowy hay, no scratchier than the grass and twigs she'd laid on in their journey. 

 


	42. Light in the darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bella gets something back.

Though she slept soundly that night, a thankfully dreamless sleep, Bella awoke very quickly to the sound of another door being opened, from where it led to the house rather than the barred door they'd run through earlier in the day.

 

She saw a towering figure, taller than even Gandalf, and vastly more imposing, corded muscle and thick hair catching what meagre moonlight shone through the thatched roof.

 

She held her breath in apprehension, watching as the mannish figure looked down at the sleeping dwarves. He walked across the stone floor in unusually quiet steps, counting the sleeping forms and checking on the animals.

 

He stopped when he noticed Bella, half-covered by a sheet. Too late, she realized that holding her breath where the others snored steadily made her all the more suspicious.

 

“Sleep now, little bunny,” said the rumbling voice of the enormous man, low enough to leave the others untroubled, sounding like the soft growl of a creature even larger than the man himself was. “You are safe here.”

 

Bella let go of her held breath, chancing a look at the man's face. It was as imposing as the rest of him, dark shadows concealing much of it. But from what Bella could see, his expression was soft, even gentle, and it comforted her to know that she felt just about as safe as she'd been assured.

 

So she pulled her covering right up to her chin and allowed herself rest, watching as the man walked back into the house, leaving the company and Gandalf to their slumber.

 

* * *

 

When she awoke, it was to a buzzing bee bigger than she'd ever seen, hovering almost thoughtfully in front of her before flying away, out of the stable to the gardens.

 

Thorin was gone from her side, but a quick look up told her why—the dwarves were all sitting at a table that might have been low for the one who carved it, but entirely too high for the dwarves sitting at it, making them seem like children in comparison.

 

The enormous, bear-like man, who Gandalf introduced as Beorn, their host, picked Bella up when she walked over, sitting her down on one of the chairs. The sound she made was thoroughly undignified, though the dwarves were too apprehensive to find it amusing, Thorin most of all.

 

He stood by one of the carved wooden pillars, moving to Bella's side when the bear-man plopped her down. He stood only as high as her seat, and she shrugged helplessly, shaking her head to placate Thorin but failing to soften the tense line of his brow.

 

“Little bunny should eat, grow fat again as bunnies do. Fill you with bread and honey. Your skin is missing the fat between it and your bones,” said their host, and Bella looked down at her arms at his word. Yes, they were indeed much thinner than before, alarmingly so. She'd had no vanities in the wild, but the adventure almost certainly affected her. If she'd been back in the Shire, they'd have called her half-starved, skinny as a stick.

 

She touched her cheeks and felt the bone there, a tiny jut from the cheekbones and the jaw. Good heavens, she _had_ lost weight.

 

Sensing perhaps her thoughts on her current predicament, Beorn tipped more milk in her mug than the rest, piling the food on her plate enough to make more of a substantial meal than she'd had in weeks.

 

She savoured every bit of it, smacking her lips and licking her fingers, feeling satisfied and full-bellied and full of vigour. She sat at alert as Beorn spoke, her eyes widening when he told them of Azog and of his family, when she found the shackles on his wrist.

 

When he agreed to help them, Bella was relieved.

 

“You may stay for a day and a night, but no longer. Then you must be on your way.”

 

Thorin accepted the help graciously (or gracious enough for Thorin, in any case), and the dwarves were allowed passage into Beorn's home. Within the house they found the oddest of inhabitants—dogs, who were small compared to Beorn but large enough on four legs to reach one's chest if one were the height of a dwarf.

 

These dogs, however, had a twinkle in their eyes that was unlike any other dog Bella had ever seen, and when Beorn said to ask the dogs for anything they need, she suspected that perhaps there was more to them than Beorn claimed of skinchangers left in the world. Or perhaps they were simply very intelligent dogs. Either way, Bella was happy to greet them as one would greet a host, even if she shied away from sharp canines when they opened their mouths in a toothy, doggy grin.

 

She found Gandalf sitting in one of the high chairs in Beorn's home, conversing with the bear-man concerning the situation.

 

“And I am sorry for bringing this trouble to your doorstep, my dear fellow.”

 

“The trouble has never left my doorstep, you need not apologize for what's always been there,” Beorn said, shaking his head. “Unless you mean the dwarves. I must wonder why you brought them here, knowing that I am not inclined to their presence.”

 

“We had no choice, really. I could think of no safer place, with Azog in pursuit. He fears you, you know.”

 

“I fear him just as much,” Beorn said. “But without chains to hold me, and a home with high walls, I am at more of an advantage than he. Ah!” he said suddenly, looking to where Bella was creeping up behind Gandalf's chair. “The little bunny! Tell me, how is it that this one came to be among dwarves?” he said, addressing Gandalf. Bella startled at his voice raising to a hearty boom, but smiled in reply to his equally hearty 'hello',

 

“Bilbo here has a certain talent for getting out of trouble, and a certain skill that we need for our quest. He is also a very good friend of the dwarf king, Thorin Oakenshield, and came on this quest of his own free will,” Gandalf said significantly.

 

“Yes,” Bella added when they both looked to her. “Yes, I did.”

 

“I can only wish you luck then, in this dealing with the dwarves. They are not widely considered a trustworthy race,” Beorn said gravely. Bella huffed, crossing her arms defensively.

 

“Well, I am a hobbit,” she said, “and hobbits are not widely considered an adventurous race, nor a brave one. That which is widely considered will often prove untrue.”

 

“I did not mean to offend,” Beorn said, chuckling. “Neither you nor your friends. Of Thorin Oakenshield, I have heard whispers, the most prominent being his enmity of Azog the Defiler. For that alone, I consider him an honoured guest in my house.”

 

“Perhaps then consider not believing lies about him or his company,” Bella said. “Bilbo!” Gandalf scolded, but Beorn simply nodded. “I apologize then,” the bear man said graciously, and Bella accepted his outstretched finger and shook it like she would shake a hand, firmly and amiably.

 

“Gandalf, may I speak with you?”

 

“Ah, yes! Of course, of course—if you don't mind, Beorn?” Gandalf said askance, looking to the bear man, who'd already risen from his enormous wooden seat.

 

“Not at all. I must tend to the ponies, in any case. Feel free to sit,” he said, nodding to Bella. When he left, Bella searched for a chair that wasn't so high she couldn't lift herself onto it, and brought it close to where Gandalf sat quietly, fiddling with his pack.

 

“What was it that you wanted to speak to me about, Gandalf?”

 

Gandalf continued to fiddle, searching for something in his satchel. “It should be here, somewhere. I think... yes! Yes, here they are.”

 

Bella tilted her head curiously.

 

“When I searched for you, in the Misty Mountains, I found your bag abandoned in the caves. I feared the worst, of course, but I knew you were resilient. I could not carry everything with me, so I took what I thought to be valuable.”

 

He handed her a smaller bag, sealed with a drawstring, and Bella opened it up to find two things that made her heart leap—her mother's map, gifted to her by Lord Elrond in Rivendell, and the little box that contained her most precious treasure.

 

“Gandalf... I—I don't know what to say,” she said unsteadily, wiping tears that threatened to fall from her eyes. “Thank you.”

 

“My dear Bella,” Gandalf said gently. “You are the best of your father and mother, and so much more. Treasure these. They are memories of those you loved, and they will help you through the dark days that will come to pass. I only wish I could spare you the hardship... But I know you're strong. Stronger than any hobbit I've ever met. If anyone will come through the dark and find the light, it will be you.”

 

Bella slipped off her high stool and embraced the wizard, laughing as he did.

 

Later, when she found a mirror, she took her most precious treasure from its box and braided it into her hair, as she once did long ago, as a young lass.

 

The little bead twinkled in the sunlight, reminding her of the light she had to carry with her in the coming darkness.

 

 


	43. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, for the first time, it's Bella who puts her foot in her mouth rather than Thorin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't updated in forever! But I definitely have renewed interest in this fic and will definitely continue it. BUT FIRST: 
> 
> IMPORTANT QUESTION TO THE READERS: 
> 
> I WANT TO SHIP BOFUR WITH SOMEBODY. BUT WHO? Vote in the comments =)))))
> 
> Thank you so much for the continued support. Next chapter will have Bofur and Bella talking. I'm gonna need your ship votes for Bofur to complete that scene!

 

“Hmm.”

 

“Oh hello, Bofur!”

 

“Hmm!”

 

“So rare to see you with your mouth shut when you obviously have something to say!”

 

“Hmmhmm!” Bofur said a third time, loudly and thoughtfully, as he surveyed Bella—more specifically, her hair.

 

“Is it terribly obvious, then?” Bella asked anxiously.

 

“Well it's obviously dwarven-made,” Bofur said helpfully, “and ye obviously didn' have it before. An' also, obviously, hobbits don't wear such precious little trinkets fer betrothals, otherwise, we would have seen more of yer kin with 'em.”

 

Bella sighed, picking at the bead.

 

“So fast, too?” Bofur continued. “I never pegged Thorin for the whirlwind romance type.”

 

“I've had this forever,” Bella defended. “I just didn't wear it 'til now. It's a long story,” she said, in her voice a plea for no questions.

 

“Well we have time! Tonight, you better tell me everythin',” Bofur bade, and Bella gave a half-hearted promise as she went to seek out her dwarf.

 

* * *

 

To her relief, Bella found Thorin sitting alone, smoking out by the back. She crept silently up from behind him and kissed his cheek before he could startle—which he did, nearly dropping his pipe.

 

“You shouldn't do that,” he said, shaking his head.

 

“And you should pay more attention to your surroundings,” Bella said, smirking.

 

“Indeed. I suppose it's been quite a while since I felt safe anywhere. Even with Beorn's distrust, this place lends to tranquillity,” said Thorin thoughtfully. “It reminds me of Bag End. But much, much bigger.”

 

“Yes, I suppose it does,” Bella said, kicking at her heel nervously. He hadn't noticed yet, but she hoped he would. He looked up at her, wondering why she had nothing else to say, when he saw the bead glittering at her cheek, his eyes widening dramatically.

 

“You... that is...”

 

“Yes,” Bella interrupted. “I thought I lost it in the mountains. It was in my pack, you see. But then Gandalf was able to salvage my valuables, and—”

 

He pulled her close, nose nearly bumping his, and from this distance Bella could see his smile. It was wide, joyful, and dazzlingly bright, and he pressed their foreheads together in the happiest of dwarven kisses, then just as suddenly pressed their lips together in a hobbitish one.

 

“Does that mean you accept my suit?” Thorin asked breathlessly, his eyes almost painfully hopeful. Bella nodded, smiling brightly.

 

“You love me, don't you?” she asked. Thorin furrowed his brow as he nodded seriously. “And I love you,” she continued. “And I want to be with you. Not for some silly promise or payment, not for riches or for a status. I love you, and that's that.”

 

Thorin held her tight, his nose tickling the side of her neck.

 

“I love you,” he murmured, tasting the words. “I love you,” he said again. There was a strange undertone to it, a sort of...desperation that made Bella frown into Thorin's hair.

 

“What is it?” she asked, stroking down the length of his hair gently.

 

“It's nothing.”

 

“Thorin,” Bella sighed.

 

“I'm afraid of what we might find when we reach the mountain,” Thorin confessed.

 

“What, a dragon? We've fought orcs and wargs and trolls, and ridden on eagles and faced down a skinchanger. We can handle a silly lizard, Thorin,” Bella said, trying to lighten the mood, but the tightening of Thorin's shoulders under her hands told her that she had it all wrong.

 

“Thorin...”

 

“I... just remembered. I have to talk to Gandalf,” Thorin said, pulling away, reluctant to meet her gaze.

 

“Thorin, wait, I'm sorry I—”

 

“I love you,” Thorin repeated, giving her a last hug, though she suspected it was more to throw her off than anything as he disappeared into the house, leaving her out by the garden, alone.

 

“What did I say?” Bella asked the smell of pipe smoke that was all that was left of Thorin's presence. “What did I say wrong?”

 

 


	44. An unknown enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bella tries and fails to figure out what's got Thorin spooked--and what could be waiting in the mountain that could possibly be worse than a dragon--and ends up spooking herself in the process with thoughts of future obligations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just watched BOTFA last night and now I feel the unquenchable need to finish this fic and play on the events of BOTFA with my own twist. Haha damn. What a kick.

 

“So, lass, are ye about ready to tell me yer secret or should I have to ply it out of ye with some honey-wine?” Bofur said lightly, when he found Bella sitting on Beorn's oddly plush chair (or footrest, judging by its size). For a man who looked like a wild animal, he wasn't shy about his creature comforts. Then again, living alone might have given him the time to pursue other hobbies besides keeping orcs off his land.

 

“Lass,” Bella repeated, sighing. “Well, you already know the one. What else would you like to hear about?”

 

“That bead would be a good start. Where'd ya get it? Thorin?” Bofur asked, sitting down on the floor in front of her.

 

“Yes,” Bella answered, fingering the bead lightly. “A long time ago.”

 

“A lo—I didn' think Thorin was so forward,” Bofur said. “Or did'ya mean somethin' else?”

 

Bella swallowed. “I met him a long time ago. Saved his life. Promises were made. I was young, silly. I wanted to be a princess.”

 

Bofur nodded understandingly. “Not so silly, not for a life debt.”

 

“It _was_ silly,” Bella argued. “When I saw Thorin again I didn't know how to feel. I knew I loved him, but I didn't want this whole thing to be an obligation on his part,” she said, gesturing to the bead. “An empty promise. I wanted to love me too.”

 

“No worries about that then,” Bofur said kindly. “He adores ye. Anyone with two good eyes—or even one—can see that.”

 

“He said he loves me,” Bella said. “But I'm not so sure.”

 

“...Why?”

 

“I don't... I don't doubt he loves me,” Bella said. “I believe Thorin. He's honest, and trustworthy, and he wouldn't lie. But there's something else. Something bigger that's festering inside him, something he won't tell me, and I fear that love won't be enough in the face of it.”

 

“Well,” Bofur said. “I'd tell ye to face it head on, ta believe in yerself, but that'd be hypocritical of me when I've got none of the stones ta do it my own self.”

 

“You have someone?” Bella asked, eyes wide.

 

“Have? No. But I've loved someone for a very long time,” Bofur sighed. “Never told 'em, though. I'm not brave like you.”

 

“Not brave,” Bella corrected. “Just not particularly bright.” She smirked. “Which means, I think, that you'll do just fine.”

 

Bofur punched her in the leg as she laughed heartily, kicking Bofur in retaliation.

 

“I'm not bright, eh? Well you're the one who forgot it's supper-time,” Bofur said, and Bella stopped laughing, eyes wide in something akin to fear. “Bombur's probably eaten all the honey cakes.”

 

“You—you!” Bella said, pointing her finger accusingly. They both made their way to the dining rooms, Bofur laughing all the while. Before they found their places beside the other dwarves, Bella looked up at Bofur. “Who is it?” she asked. “The one... I mean, _your_ one?”

 

Bofur shrugged, looking to the table. His eyes seemed to land on a lone golden-haired head, but she couldn't be too sure.

 

Quite significantly, she saw no sign of Thorin at the table, and resolved to save him a honey cake. She couldn't have him neglecting his health out of stubbornness, after all.

 

Bella chuckled, wondering when she'd become such a... such a wife. The idea warmed her, though it came with her underlying doubt.

 

Thorin was a king. Despite promises, despite love, that wasn't something anyone could brush aside so easily. If she did become his wife, then she would be...

 

“Oi, la—lad, are ye alright?” Bofur said, startling as Bella turned a stunning shade of green.

 

“I'm fine,” she said, taking a few deep breaths to centre herself. “I'm...”

 

“Hungry?” Bofur suggested, though the look on his face told Bella she was giving him an excuse. She was grateful for the out, and nodded quickly.

 

She didn't know if she could stomach supper, not with the startling revelation that affected her so deeply. It should have been obvious, but it didn't seem to matter all that much to her until now.

 

If she married Thorin... if they somehow got their 'happy ending'...

 

She would be a queen.

 

A queen. Of dwarves. In a mountain practically on the other side of the world from her home in Bag End.

 

Yes, she'd left it quick, but she had every intention of going back. But Thorin's responsibilities meant that, no matter what she chose to do or where she chose her end to be, he couldn't come with her.

 

Thorin was too noble for that. Too unselfish. Bella had no right to do that to him.

 

Perhaps that was why he'd left so quick. Perhaps he'd had the same revelation that she just did. Or perhaps it was something else. What was it that he'd said?

 

She contemplated his words, chewing absently on the delicious cheese she'd been given with her bread. It was amusing to see that though meat was not one of Beorn's fare, the dwarves were still much happier eating here than they were in Rivendell.

 

It was rare for a hobbit—even one such as her, who was rare enough with her adventuring—to pay more attention to other things when there was a perfectly good meal in front of them, so Bofur elbowed her as he passed before the others noticed her melancholy, and she tucked into her meal properly, considering Thorin's words less obviously than before.

 

 _I'm afraid of what we might find when we reach the mountain,_ he said. It went without saying that a dragon was something to be reckoned with, but the way he'd said it, Bella realized, sounded like he was speaking of something else entirely. Something that, if she was reading it right, might be worse than a dragon.

 

She couldn't imagine what could be worse than a great beast with teeth like razors and claws like meat hooks, but she knew that whatever it was, it had Thorin spooked, and she had to figure it out if she was going to help him.

 

But what could it be?

 

What could be lying in wait in that mountain that was worse than the dragon Smaug himself?

 


	45. Dark Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Entering Mirkwood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but I'm gonna try making the next one a bit more substantial. Thank you all for your continued support!

The sojourn at Beorn's was a comfort, but it had to, as all good things, come to an end. Beorn packed her an abundance of breads and cakes and allowed her access to his gardens to pick from his trees and bushes, as well as dig up what she could.

 

She picked what she could carry, the hard time she'd had with the goblins and the wargs and orcs teaching her to take only what she needed. Still, she couldn't stop herself from picking up a lovely little acorn fallen in Beorn's garden, imagining how it would be lovely to plant it in Bag End and watch it grow, a reminder of her adventures once they were all over and done with.

 

A pang in her heart reminded her that she wasn't even sure if she was going to go back to Bag End.

 

Well... perhaps she'd find good earth to plant it in Erebor.

 

By the time they reached the forest edge, there was a light rain that greyed the sky and boded ill, in Bella's opinion, as the grey seemed to tinge the forest in front of them.

 

But no, she realized. It wasn't the sky at all. The forest itself seemed grey in her eyes, the colours sickly and muted.

 

“This forest,” she said, clutching the healthy, well-rounded acorn in her pocket before withdrawing. “Feels... sick.”

 

“There is an enchantment on this forest,” said Gandalf. “We must be cautious. Set the ponies loose. Let them return to their master. We will continue on foot.”

 

Gandalf scouted ahead, and Bella wandered over to Thorin, who was speaking in hushed tones to Dwalin. He smiled a small smile, there and gone again, when Bella came over, and he nodded to Dwalin, in agreement to something Bella hadn't heard.

 

“When we enter this forest, you must stay by me,” Thorin bade.

 

“What? Why?”

 

“This forest belongs to the elves,” Thorin said, frowning. “I do not trust it to be safe, not even for weary travellers.”

 

Bella would have argued the case of elves, but given the unsettling nature of the forest, she instead touched Thorin's arm and nodded, letting him clasp her shoulder briefly before he moved on to check on the others.

 

It did nothing for her unease when she saw Gandalf marching away from the forest, calling for his own horse.

 

“Gandalf?” she said, hurrying to him as he mounted. “No. No, you're not leaving us?”

 

“I would not do this if it weren't of the utmost importance.”

 

He looked down at Bella and sighed. “Bella Baggins,” he said solemnly, “I trust you'll be able to keep your king in line?”

 

Bella cracked a worried smile, shaking her head.

 

“Bella...”

 

“Yes, Gandalf. But I don't know why it's him you're worried about when I'm the one liable to fall into holes or off cliffs,” she said.

 

“There is a darkness, Bella,” Gandalf said gravely. “And it corrupts all it touches. The enchantment in this forest is one such example. For all that Thorin is noble and good, he is just as susceptible to that darkness as any. More so, given his history.”

 

“And I'm not?” Bella challenged, hands on her waist. She felt the outline of the ring in her pocket, but thought little of it—though it seemed oddly warm, at her fingertips. “Susceptible, I mean.”

 

“I didn't mean that,” Gandalf sighed. “It is only that I see how Thorin looks at you. I know that the light in his eyes shines brightest for his beloved, and that you may be the one thing that could drive the darkness away—at least, that which might claw its way into Thorin's heart. I trust you, Bella. Please grant me the same favour.”

 

Bella nodded. “Alright Gandalf,” she said softly. “I will.”

 

Gandalf nodded. “Wait for me on the overlook,” he said, addressing the whole of the company. “I will find you all there.”

 

And with the gallop of hooves swiftly across the field, Gandalf was gone.

 


	46. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many years ago, Thorin Oakenshield had a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback scene to foreshadowing, heheh. The creep!factor is a bit strong in this one.

Many years ago, in the year of a cold winter that was harsher and longer than most, Thorin had a dream. It began as any dream might—a touch of reality woven through a fiction.

 

_He saw a young hobbit lass who he loved, running through an open door. Not so much a door, but stone—cut through, open like a door, though it had no handles or keyholes on the outside._

 

_He followed the hobbit into the door and found himself walking along the high paths of Erebor. Though deep in his mind, he knew that years should have dusted the kingdom grey, it still shone as bright and gold as it always had in his memory. The lanterns were lit and he could hear the bustle of civilization far below, that which was the kingdom of Erebor in its prime._

 

_When Thorin looked to see the people he remembered, he saw nothing but empty caverns and grey bridges, some broken. Abandoned, for some great catastrophe that Thorin could not bring to mind right then._

 

_Just then, he saw a flash of gold, and far below on one of the bridges, still intact, he saw his hobbit lass—older now, a conjured image of the age he'd never seen her grow to._

 

_He knew she would be lovely, and lively. Sweet but strong, like his sister, and though she would learn ladylike manners from her stately relatives, she would not sacrifice the time she spent running around in trousers, dirtying herself in scraps and fights others might say she had no business getting into._

 

“ _Thorin!” she called, her voice echoing distantly. “Come on Thorin! You must hurry!”_

 

“ _I'm coming! Wait!” Thorin said, and he ran, crossing into what ought to have been another chamber, but instead finding himself on the same bridge she was on. She waited at the end of it, smiling brightly at him from afar._

 

“ _Come on, Thorin! Hurry!” she said, and she ran off, disappearing into the parallel chamber. Thorin pursued, the bridge seeming longer than it had looked before._

 

_As the sound of footfalls faded, the earth began to rumble, something dangerous and enormous coming towards him that Thorin could not stop to watch for. He had to keep running, he told himself, and soon the bridge ended, just as he looked over his shoulder and saw the dragon Smaug crashing down into the mountain with a roar and a burst of red flame._

 

_But as soon as he crossed into the next chamber, the dragon and all its carnage was forgotten, echoes of its roars muted, and then gone. Thorin looked back and saw only darkness, and nearly tripped and fell from the ledge when he turned his head to see what was before him._

 

_The treasury of Erebor. The coins were scattered across the floor, piles and piles disturbed from wherever they'd been kept and forming mountains of gold._

 

_He first heard her laughing before he saw her, nestled in between the piles, dressed in the royal blues that were once counted as Thorin's colors. She was aged now, an adult fully grown, her golden hair dull against the sparkling gold around her, but no less beautiful._

 

_And she was. Beautiful._

 

“ _Thorin,” she said, her voice deeper, more womanly. “Where is it?”_

 

“ _What?”_

 

“ _The dragon, Thorin,” she said. “Where is it?”_

 

_Thorin looked behind him and saw only darkness._

 

“ _I do not know.”_

 

“ _Don't you?”_

 

_When Thorin looked back, he saw the mountains sink as they began to melt, the way gold did when it was heated on a flame._

 

“ _Bella!” he shouted. “Get out of there!”_

 

_But even as the gold began to engulf her, like water, like molten rock, she stayed where she was. “Where is the dragon, Thorin?” she said, unaffected._

 

“ _It's—it's here. It's somewhere, I don't—”_

 

“ _Look, Thorin,” said this Bella, her hand raised, pointing right at him. “Look,” she said, even as she sank beneath the rising tide of gold, leaving nothing but her pointing finger—an accusation, one that was only clear when the gold engulfed her completely, and Thorin was left staring at his own reflection in the pool._

 

“ _The dragon,” he repeated, his voice shaking as he raised his hands to his face. His eyes were slits, his hands were claws, his teeth—_

 

 

In the deep eve of a snowy night in Ered Luin, Thorin woke screaming, enough to rouse Dis from the far end of their sprawling house, enough to rouse Dwalin and Balin, who were there with small arms at a ready for an intruder that was not there.

 

The last time Thorin had awoken screaming into the night, it was in the months after Azanulbizar—a common ailment of the dwarves who fought in the battle. That had been years prior, and the fears he held in his heart were very different then.

 

For a very long time, Thorin sat awake, wondering how this weather was affecting the Shire. For a very long time, he wondered whether or not he ought to return.

 

For a very long time, Thorin wondered. And at length, he decided.

 


	47. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the forest of Mirkwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who aren't aware, I've started up a job that's taken up most of my time and my life (9-6 on weekdays and a long commute which means I'm gone from 7 to 7) so sad to say I've not had any time for anything (including fics). 
> 
> Although more happily, I'm able to get a few paragraphs a night into writing. So here's the fruits of my labor. 
> 
> I'm also on tumblr under the username muchymozzarella :) I'm a regular there, if you guys want to hit me up.

 

 

Bella could not remember the last time she'd felt so terribly afraid. The sharp fear she remembered of childhood adventures and hardships was not the same fear she felt in Mirkwood—here, the fear was dull, rustling like dead leaves beneath her skin. She felt like an animal, poisoned and dying, waiting for predators to take her as she trudged through confusion made real in the air she breathed.

 

When they arrived at the strange river, the bridge broken and of no use, awareness trickled back as she looked upon the water.

 

“Rivers... rivers are supposed to run,” she said. “Flow, I mean. They're not supposed to be still. This is strange. I don't... I don't think it's safe.”

 

“We could swim it,” Kili suggested.

 

“No, Master Baggins is right. There's something wrong with this river,” said Balin. “We should find another way across.”

 

“What about these vines?” said Fili, while Kili raised a boot to test them.

 

“No, Kili,” said Thorin. “Send the lightest first.”

 

The whole of the Company looked to Bella, who only sighed.

 

Crossing the vines was not a hardship, but keeping the alertness she'd gained was not the easiest feat as the air weighed heavy on her brow and she seemed to sink even when she stood upright.

 

“Something is not right. Not right at all,” she muttered to herself. She nearly fell into the water when she jumped the distance between the last set of vines and the other side of the still river, but managed to miss it by the hair on her toes.

 

By the time she's turned around, the others have already gotten up on the vines. She remembered, vaguely, that she was supposed to warn them, but of what, she could not recall.

 

Not until Bombur fell asleep, right on the vines.

 

“Ah, the river, it's—” she began, her voice raising and eyes widening.

 

And then Bombur fell in, swallowed by the river water before coming up, buoying to the surface on his back.

 

“Enchanted,” Bella finished lamely.

 

“Bombur!”

 

“Help him out!”

 

“What happened?”

 

She didn't even realize she was sitting down on the edge of the river until Thorin gripped her by the shoulders and hoisted her up, keeping her steady on her feet.

 

“We have to find a way out of this forest quickly,” Thorin said, more steadily than Bella, but still disoriented.

 

Billa made to turn to Thorin, but her eye caught twinkling white fur in the meagre light that shone through the trees, and very soon, she saw a white stag passing into her sight.

 

In the grey of the forest, the white stag seemed to glow as the full moon in a starless night. It was ethereal in its own right, and Billa could not mistake its light for clarity—for looking upon it was like looking at a dream, a different sort of confusion, without the niggling fear.

 

She looked aside to Thorin, ready to smile at the omen, but that smile was chased away when she saw him drawing a bowstring taut and firing at the grand beast, chasing it away.

 

Her indignation and the clear _thwip_ of the bowstring brought her true clarity, and she blinked many times as she furrowed her brow.

 

“You shouldn't have done that,” she said, getting her bearings. “It's bad luck.”

 

“This forest has sought to mislead us ever since we entered, and you do not think a beast that lives within it might do the same?” Thorin said. “Especially one such as that?”

 

“It was a stag,” Bella said. “A white stag. What could it do to harm us?”

 

Thorin put a steady hand on her shoulder. “I didn't say it would harm us, my love,” he said. “But even the most innocent-seeming of creatures are capable of _leading_ us to harm. And though you say it is a bad omen to chase away white stags, I know of other tales... tales where such creatures mark the path to one's destruction. Our omens are not all the same.”

 

Bella raised her hand to squeeze Thorin's, lingering on her shoulder for a moment more as she realized that the others were trying to figure out a way to carry Bombur's sleeping form, for the time she and Thorin had spent... conversing had been dedicated to trying—and failing—to wake him up.

 

He didn't seem harmed, and even snored as loudly as any of the nights he slept, so the Company was more concerned with moving him than with waking him, now that their efforts had proved fruitless.

 

They were able to come up with a stretcher, on which they could all hold his weight, and though it made the trek an even bigger hardship than it was before, their frustration made it easier not to sink into the strange, grey haze of the forest.

 

“Speak to me,” said Thorin.

 

“What?”

 

“My mind is clearer when you talk to me,” Thorin said, giving her a small, quick smile in that guarded way of his.

 

“I uh—I don't know what to talk about,” Bella said quietly. Speaking to Thorin did give her something to focus on, and his gentle way with her despite the forest and its hardships tempted her to take his hand. She could not do so in front of the Company, but her concerns did not seem so dire now. Already there were two in the Company who knew she was no Mister despite being a Master, and they had shown her no less respect for it. Men were as hobbits in their ideas about what a respectable woman ought to do, but dwarves were different. Or in the very least, the dwarves she'd come to trust were.

 

She launched into a babbling tale about her cousin Primula and her antics. The young girl had always been so spirited, and Bella—even as an adult hobbit who shouldn't have had time for such things—always encouraged her adventurousness, living vicariously through her without dropping the facade of respectability she'd become so attached to (the very same one she dropped like a hot potato when she decided to accompany the dwarves on their journey).

 

She didn't know if Thorin was listening, or if he was simply using her voice as a tether. She didn't mind. At odd times she would reach out to touch his hand, but never hold it for too long, and he would acknowledge her with a nod here or a faint smile there, though the troubled look never left his brow.

 

Still, it was fast becoming clear that no amount of clarity could help them find their way out quick enough.

 

And soon, Bella felt her heart plummet as she exclaimed “we are lost!” to a group of irascible, arguing dwarves.

 


	48. Attercop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The joys of killing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big THANK YOU to the people still reading. This is still an ongoing thing, even though I have much less time to write because of my new job. On the plus side, I'm more motivated to write, so updates should be once a week or so. I'm alternating updating between other fics. If anybody wants to ask me stuff about the story or talk about anything, hit me up on my tumblr, muchymozzarella.
> 
> Enjoy Bella's slow descent into ring madness in the meanwhile!

When Bella was young, off adventuring in the woods, she would sometimes lose her way. It did not bother her a bit, though, as she had long since learned how to find her way back when she was at a loss for directions.

 

She learned to see where rivers ran, and learned to climb trees to see how far she was from what was familiar.

 

She also learned how to read the sun, and its position in the sky, its brightness giving her an idea of what time it was. She was never out after dark, so she'd never learned to read the stars the way travellers did out on the open road, but she knew well enough how to read the sun.

 

This was what she kept in mind now, as the dwarves shouted curses at one another (though their shouts were lethargic and confused, as they were).

 

“We have to—we have to find the sun!” Bella tried to say, grabbing the arm of the dwarrow closest to her only to be shoved back, landing hard on the root behind her, jarring her harshly out of her own lethargy.

 

Aware that the very air of the wood was doing her no favours, and that they would not listen to her now, she found a leaning tree, easy enough to climb despite its impressive height, and made her way up.

 

She would find the sun, find them a way out, and perhaps the fresh air above the canopy would clear her mind.

 

It did.

 

She did not realize just how terrible and cloying the forest air was until she felt the wind on her cheeks and she took her first, startlingly cold breath, her mind clearing rapidly of the thick fog that had settled upon it, the poison seeping from her lungs as she felt the warm sun on her face.

 

“Everybody!” she called down. “I know where we are! I see... a lake! And a river. And the Lonely Mountain! We're almost there. I know where East is!”

 

It was quiet, up in the trees. Quiet enough that she thought she ought to hear the dwarves call back, but she heard nothing. Not a peep from them, though their arguing had been quite loud just a while ago.

 

“Hello?” she called, and felt a chill when she climbed back down into the branches and saw the forest floor—devoid of the dwarves that had been there only moments ago.

 

“What...” Her mind did not feel addled as before, but she could not tell if this was another trick the forest was trying to play on her.

 

“Bofur!?” she called, hoping her friend would answer back. He wouldn't let her down, if he heard her.

 

Still, there was nothing.

 

“Thorin!?” she called, slipping further down.

 

It was then she heard it. Clicking, and whispering, and... laughing?

 

“ _Attercop,”_ it said, like the sound of dead leaves in a storm wind.

 

“ _Attercop, attercop, attercop,”_ it repeated. _They_ repeated.

 

Bella barely had a moment to feel for the ring in her pocket before she saw them—nearly dropping it and herself from the trees in her shock.

 

Spiders.

 

Giant spiders, bigger than any she'd ever seen—bigger than the ponies they'd ridden, big enough to snare a grown Man.

 

They skittered and scurried past on branches and then onto enormous webs, and Bella thought to climb down when they were gone—but then she saw them. She saw the spiders building more webs, and saw within them thirteen shapes, being wrapped in the sticky substance—into cocoons, to be _eaten._

 

“No,” she said aloud, feeling bile rise up in her throat and forcing it back down when some of the spiders nearest to her paused in their work. Quickly and silently, Bella slipped the ring on, just as they seemed to turn their heads and their many eyes to look in her direction.

 

Her breaths were silent but desperate, watching as the spiders skittered here and there with their gigantic legs. She could almost see right through them, see their sinews and their strange innards through those legs.

 

She could hear them—hear them speaking, their hisses and their clicks forming words that she was sure they had not been saying before, and she took a shuddering breath as she drew her sword, thankfully still in her possession while the rest of the dwarves hung without weapons, no way to defend themselves and without the wits to even struggle, poisoned by the spiders' venom.

 

Her breaths were shallow, shuddering, and she could not take in air no matter what she tried, but then she heard a voice beyond the spiders and the whispers.

 

It was a warm, gentle voice. Familiar, ringing in her ears like a song.

 

 _Kill them,_ it said.

 

_Kill them. Save your friends. You can do it, brave Bella Baggins. Slash at their sinewy legs. Cut off their poisonous stingers. Save your friends. Save your beloved king._

 

And she caught her breath, eyes widening as she watched the spiders gather around a particularly voluminous shape, one that still struggled despite having been stung.

 

Bombur. Of course.

 

Too big was he for the venom to course through his veins as quick as it had the others, and Bella hurried to him, running across thick treebranches. Just as the first spider looked ready to strike, she took a loose branch and tossed it aside, letting it strike the trunk loudly, distracting them from their meal.

 

And then she struck.

 

The closest one was turned away from her, and she stabbed it through the crunchy middle, hearing it scream.

 

“ _It stings!”_ it said, skittering legs turning it to her, allowing her to run her sword through its head. 

 

It died with her sword in her, its weight bringing it down through the trees as she drew the elvish blade clean out, ready to face another. 

 

“Sting,” Bella said, smiling widely. “A fine name for a fine blade.” 

 

“ _Where is it?”_ they cried in their spidery tongue, and feeling blood rush through her ears and fear falling to excitement, Bella drew her ring from her finger for a moment. 

 

“Here I am!” she said, and she killed another. 

 


	49. The Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the eyes of a certain hatted dwarf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding a pairing tag for this one! Bofur/Fili. I promise the next chapter will be much more interesting plot-wise, but for now, I hope a different perspective will keep you guys interested.

 

The struggle with the spiders was something Bofur was sure he never wanted to repeat. Sure, watching Dwalin punch out a _giant fucking monster trying to eat them from the inside out_ was entertaining, and their hides were not as tough as orc skin, but Bofur was not eager to deal with another spider again—giant or otherwise.

 

Still, when he found himself nose-to-tip with an arrow drawn right at him, he wasn't sure if he preferred the spiders.

 

The elves had come out of nowhere, out of the trees and into their midst, killing spiders and closing in on their Company, twelve accounted for and shoved together as they were shackled.

 

Twelve. Not thirteen.

 

“Thorin,” Bofur whispered urgently as he was shoved along, “where's Bella?”

 

He caught a glimpse of Thorin's eyes widening, but not much more as they were led away, marching through the forest, safer, but not altogether better for it.

 

They were led over a narrow bridge, and, to their surprise, down into a cavern rather than up into the trees like they'd expected. Balin didn't look surprised, and Thorin only looked angry, but the others—especially Kili, and Fili, looked stunned as their eyes found the high ceiling, and when they passed over pathways overlooking halls far below.

 

They soon stood before an enormous, high throne, carved horns framing the one who occupied it, the elf lounging easily and looking down on them with cold, proud eyes.

 

He addressed Thorin as if he were addressing a commoner, and Bofur shifted uncomfortably in place. They'd been clustered together, and he found himself standing behind the young Durins, Kili looking livid and Fili matching the cold gaze with a proud one of his own.

 

Slowly, uncertainly, Bofur reached a gloved hand out to touch Fili's shoulder. He was reminded, briefly, of a time when he was older, considered an adult though still wet behind the ears, and Fili was still a young child, always so serious and silent where Kili was rambunctious and loud. Bofur thought then that children shouldn't be so serious, but when he sat them down and spun them tales, watching the stony facade crack as both brothers fell to helpless laughter in the funny bits, he realized that that was just how Fili was.

 

A serious boy, but not humourless, and certainly not without the enthusiasm of a child. Bofur knew what it was to have to grow up fast, being the elder of siblings. Bofur knew what it meant to be responsible. But Bombur was the quiet one, so Bofur filled in his silences with incessant chatter so he would not feel uncomfortable or alienated, always making him laugh. It seemed that with Kili's loquaciousness, Fili didn't need to fill silences, so he provided them.

 

Fili, though, he hadn't been a child in a long time. Bofur had become aware of that long after Fili had reached the age of majority, and though he was no longer needed to watch over the young brothers, Bofur was never far from the Durins, good relations between his family and theirs remaining long after their obligations did.

 

That was almost certainly the reason Bofur, Bombur and Bifur came along on this mad quest. Free beer was a plus, and tales of gold certainly didn't put Bofur off, having had to scrape by all his life (though they were barely ever _poor_ , they were far, far from rich). The Durins, and the affection Bofur bore for them, had him shouldering his mattock and coming along, despite the niggling voice in the back of his mind that told him that this was a fool's errand, and that he should have no part of it.

 

But it wasn't just the Durins, or friendship. It was... it was something Bofur never admitted, but it was a certain, specific Durin that tipped the scales from a “perhaps” to a solid “yes”.

 

Sadly, even the gold shining from a dwarrow head in the strange lights of the underground elven kingdom didn't stop Bofur from cursing their predicament when they were, all of them, locked up.

 

All of them but Bella, who was lost somewhere Bofur couldn't even begin to guess. He didn't want to, either. If he thought about it for too long, his mind would go to the most horrific of outcomes, seeing as there were certainly more spiders out there than the ones that had attacked them.

 

He couldn't—no, he couldn't bring himself to worry about Bella now. Instead, Bofur focused on Fili, who he saw being pushed into a cell, but right before the elf shoving him shut the door, a blade was drawn from the inside of Fili's coat.

 

Bofur laughed quietly, wondering in warm affection at Fili's penchant for hiding sharp things on his person. He was second only to Nori in such deftness, a prince of the Durin line learning his best moves from a known thief.

 

Whoever thought Fili was too serious probably didn't know him that well.

 

When Bofur looked up, he saw Fili looking right at him from across the wide gap between their cells, and they exchanged rueful smiles. “They took my last one,” Fili said, his voice clear enough. The other dwarves were either cursing the elves or discussing strategies, but Bofur did none of that. He just looked at Fili, as the prince looked at him.

 

“Wouldn'a mattered,” Nori said from the next cell over. “I don' think these locks woulda gived anyway.”

 

“He's right,” Balin said loudly. “This is no orc dungeon. The locks may very well be enchanted, for all we know of Thranduil's power. Hacking at them, or picking them, I fear, will not yield result.”

 

“So we're stuck here, then?” Kili called.

 

“Perhaps not for long,” said Thorin's gruff, but against all odds, hopeful voice.

 

“Thorin...” Balin began.

 

“He did it before,” Thorin said. “When we thought him lost. He may well do it again.”

 

Bofur's face lit up at Thorin's optimism. He could hear it well in the king's voice, the trust there. The love there.

 

And he wasn't wrong, either. Bella had proven to be spectacular at surviving before. She might just do so again. Before he knew it, Bofur was grinning, and Fili, whether in agreement with his uncle or in response to Bofur's hope, smiled as well, never taking his eyes off the other.

 


	50. In the halls of the Elvenking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bella is reckless in her dealings with the elves of Mirkwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 50, ooooh. 
> 
> Been busy with work, but you can always trust my ability to update out of nowhere months after the last. 
> 
> Thanks so much to Trialia Hall for transcribing a large part of this chapter.

Bella was angry. She knew she shouldn't be, knew that there was no sense in her anger, but she felt it all the same, even as her silent footsteps brought her through the threshold of the elves' great door.

 

She was angry that the dwarves had left without telling their captors of her, without telling them to look for another, out in the wilds where she could have been badly injured—though she knew they had little time between being attacked by spiders and being captured by elves to go looking for her. She also knew that this was an advantage on her part, as she slipped past them unshackled.

 

She was also angry by the way the elves treated her dwarves, chaining them up like criminals. She was angry, and any which way she could direct her anger, she accepted heartily.

 

It was an anger born of fear, something she tried to push to the back of her mind as she followed the dwarves and elves along the narrow, winding path.

 

She could not stay behind them for long. Elf guards flanked them on each side, before and behind, and she had to part from them and step into an empty path when the elves nearly bowled her over in their march.

 

She watched from a higher point as they were brought before the Elvenking, only to be sent away to the cells, _to rot,_ as Thranduil so delicately put it.

 

Silently, she moved down, cursing her luck as she realized she could not follow where the dwarves had gone, too precariously crowded by elves for her to push through unnoticed. Instead, she went deeper into the unknowable kingdom of the elves (so different from the ones in Rivendell) and tried to find her own way, all the time a seething anger bubbling under the surface, something that might have sounded like an endless stream of cruel whispers, if she had been listening.

 

* * *

 

 

It took her longer than anticipated, but eventually, Bella found a way that passed through a strange but beautiful inner hall, where she saw her reflection in a clear pool, though she knew no other eyes could find her.

 

There was something in the reflection that startled her, though she had no time to see what it was when she heard someone speak, the silence of Elvish steps keeping her complacent until it was too late.

 

“I know you're there,” said the voice, calm and regal, yet sharp and unnerving. “Why do you linger in the shadows?”

 

Bella turned, looking up at the cold face of the Elvenking. She could not breathe for anxiousness, waiting for him to condemn her to the same fate as her companions.

 

And then...

 

“My lord.”

 

Both occupants looked to the entryway, where an elf woman—a warrior, with that look about her—stood, waiting for the king's leave. She had an abundance of beautiful, fiery red hair, and Bella thought she remembered her from earlier, saving her friends' lives.

 

“Tauriel,” Thranduil acknowledged as Bella took that opportunity to slip away, towards the opposite threshold.

 

“Before you lay your concerns before me, I would ask you to fetch our unwanted guest from the entryway,” he said, and Bella froze, having crossed the threshold but not far enough not to have heard—nor was she far enough that the gasp she gave would have gone unheard as well.

 

She pressed herself to the wall and closed her eyes, but she knew that they had heard her, beyond all doubt. At the very last moment, when the elf warrior nearly crossed the room, Bella pulled the ring off, stuffing it into her shirt.

 

If she had been in a better mood, and, well, not about to be captured, she might have laughed at seeing such a look on an elf's face.

 

* * *

 

When she faced the Elvenking with a defiance that belied the cold fear in the pit of her stomach, Bella was surprised to find that, instead of the rage, or the cold indifference she'd been expecting, that king Thranduil looked at her with interest.

 

“You are not a dwarf,” he said at first, “for even their women have beards. And there is a look about them that you do not have.”

 

Bella wisely refrained from asking what the Elvenking meant by the 'look' of a dwarf, when neither Thorin's word nor Thranduil's behaviour implied he took kindly to the dwarrow folk.

 

“I am not a dwarf,” Bella agreed. “But the dwarves are my friends. I was looking for them. I'd heard they were imprisoned, though I cannot even begin to guess why.”

 

Thranduil raised an impressive eyebrow. “We do not take the presence of trespassers lightly in my kingdom.”

 

“Oh, so did that trespassing take place before or after they were nearly killed and eaten by giant spiders?” Bella groused before she could stop herself. “No, I'm sorry, eaten and then killed would be more apt, with how spiders take their meals.”

 

Instead of responding, Thranduil merely asked a question of his own. “Tell me, then. If you are not a dwarf, then what are you?”

 

“I'm a hobbit,” Bella answered. “And the dwarves in your keep are my friends. They weren't doing anything wrong when your people took them.”

 

“Oh? And can you tell me, then, friend of the dwarves, why they were wandering around my realm in the first place?”

 

Bella pondered on what to say, speaking quickly when Thranduil opened his mouth once again.

 

“Home,” she said. “They need to get home.”

 

At that, Thranduil laughed. It was a beautiful, ringing thing, but not altogether pleasant to Bella, knowing what it was that he was laughing at.

 

“You may think those dwarves of yours seek home, and you may believe their quest to be noble. But as with all the Naugrim, there is naught that drives them but greed. It is a pity that they were able to trick a child of the kindly West thus.”

 

Bella raised her brows, feeling her ever-present anger turn cold, but no less biting.

 

“If you'll excuse me, your majesty, but I doubt you know my dwarves better than I do, seeing as you've never met most of them – nearly all, I'd suppose.”

 

Thranduil smiled, and it was a cruel, cutting thing that only served to fuel Bella's determination.

 

“The nature of dwarves does not need guessing. I have seen and suffered for their greed, paid dearly in the lives of my own kin.”

 

“As has Thorin Oakenshield seen and suffered for the nature of elves, lost his own people when you did not come to their aid. If you spoke to a mirror and said 'elves' rather than 'dwarves', there would be little difference,” Bella spat. “I do not know what it is that dwarves have done to win your hatred, but they do not live as long as elves. Those who have wronged you are long dead, and yet you ensure that the living suffer for it. I heard what you said to Thorin. I know of the gems you seek. Your hypocrisy runs deep, o King, if your want of jewels is loving sentiment, yet you believe the dwarves' want for their heritage to be greed.”

 

Harshly did Bella breathe at the end of it, and Thranduil's expression was frozen in shock at her words, the way they'd done when Thorin had accused him of lacking honour. He then said something harsh in his own tongue, and Bella's arms were locked behind her by a red-haired elf woman she had not noticed earlier.

 

“Have this one locked up,” he said, “away from her precious dwarves. She will be useful in Thorin Oakenshield's cooperation.”

 

Bella felt fear enough to regret angering the Elvenking, but she could not ignore the satisfaction she felt at having affected him. She was led away to a cell, but the small, cold smile did not leave her even then.

 

* * *

 

 

Bella looked up when her cell door was opened, meeting the red-haired elf woman's almost friendly eyes. It had been hours since her talk with the Elvenking and her anger had subsided, leaving her to berate herself for her stupidity. She could have helped her Company by negotiating their release, but no. She just went off. Who was she, Thorin?

 

Unbidden, a giggle escaped her lips at the thought. Thorin was starting to rub off on her if she was picking fights with elves, now.

 

Thorin.

 

If the elf king was to be believed, her imprisonment would be used against him, used to ply him into some backhanded deal. She couldn't let that happen.

 

“You should not have angered him so,” said the elf guardswoman calmly, although Bella suspected that she simply was not used enough to the nuances of elvish expressions to know if they were... well, expressing anything. Still, her tone was not cold, which comforted Bella.

 

“It was stupid, I know,” Bella said, “but I was not about to let such slander against my friends pass unchallenged,” she replied, huffing. The woman smiled at her gently.

 

“You care deeply for them, don't you?” she said

 

“I really do,” Bella said.

 

“May I... ask your name?” asked the elf.

 

Bella gave a little bob, feeling agreeable enough for manners with this elf. “Bella Baggins, at your service. May I ask your name, Miss...”

 

“Tauriel. Just Tauriel. I am his majesty's Captain of the Guard,” Tauriel said.

 

“Guard captain! Well I hope I haven't insulted you by proxy, now that I've gone and raised my voice at the king,” Bella said brightly.   
  
Tauriel smiled, though it faltered in a flash of worry on her fine features. “He is... he is a good king, protective of his people. To be undermined is not something he can stand for, even if the accusations aren't entirely untruthful.”

 

Bella sighed. “I do not doubt he is a good king, nor do I believe his actions unjustified. It is his view of dwarves that struck me hardest, for I know he is not the only one to think the same of these people. For him to say such a thing about dwarves, my dwarves, without even considering what they've been through to get this far... It's wrong.”

 

She clutched her chest at the very physical ache in her heart.

 

Tauriel seemed to have nothing to say about that, but hers was an agreeable silence that made Bella feel optimistic about the whole situation.

 

“I'm tired,” she then said, shrugging apologetically. “I'd like to rest now, if that's alright.”

 

Tauriel looked suspicious, but realized that Bella had no means of enacting any plan while she was safely locked away in an elvish cell. She nodded slowly, turning to leave as Bella sat on the cot, lowered for her convenience. It was terribly comfortable, for a prison cot. Bella almost regretted what she was to do next, if only for the comfort she knew she might enjoy if she stayed.

 

“Tauriel,” Bella intoned oddly behind the captain. “I am sorry. I really am.”

 

And when Tauriel turned around, her prisoner was gone—disappeared into thin air, as though she had never been there at all.

 


	51. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Concerning Bofur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody! 
> 
> It's not like I could really explain away not updating for so long, so I won't. But I've had this bit sitting in my files for the longest time and I want to try kickstarting this fic again. 
> 
> When I started this, it was back in 2012, and since then there have been elements of this fic I've come to dislike, so working on it seemed a bit like a chore. But instead of a huge overhaul, which I think I don't have the patience for, I'll just try to power through to the end, since I'm itching to write the ending and roll into oneshots happening in the time of LOTR, stuff I can't do until I finish this bit. 
> 
> So with that, I give you an interlude with Bofur's infatuation (a side story at best, but I'll keep it here for now) and then jump into the next chapter in celebration of Hobbit Day. 
> 
> Thanks so much for the people who've been leaving comments and kudos lately!

Bofur had known for a good long while where his attractions fell, and it was not in dwarrowdams, no matter how beautiful, noble, kind, lovely, or shapely they might have been.

 

It was not, it seemed, in Mahal's design that he look to them, which suited him fine. It was lovely to flirt with dams who knew his nature, who knew him to be game for a good tease but without the expectations that kept them cautious.

 

And Bofur was a friend to many, so there were few misunderstandings in that regard.

 

Bofur was a dwarf of simple tastes, who took the world's joys as they came. He smiled in excess, he drank in excess, and he loved in excess, and he'd never had to restrain himself in any of those counts. Or so he thought.

 

For a very long time, Bofur, friend to all, was also lover to many, none of whom begrudged him for his romps. Many of the dwarrows he'd slept with could easily call him friend afterward, though there was none so close a friend as Nori, of the brothers Ri.

 

Nori was the fun sort—game for anything, as Bofur was, if toeing the line of lawfulness more than Bofur ever considered doing. Still, he was a loyal friend, a good drinking companion, and a wildly enjoyable lay, which went on for a long while as they passed years in friendship and relative comfort, despite not being the richest of dwarves.

 

It was Nori who knew him best, and Nori who saw his eyes widen and seemed to sense his heart lurching whenever he passed a certain dwarrow who'd catch his eye whenever they were in the marketplace.

 

“When I said to raise your standards with who you bed, I didn't mean I didn' mean you oughta go above 'em,” Nori said wryly, nudging Bofur in the side.

 

“Oh, har har. I bed you, don't I?” Bofur said, smacking Nori in the arm.

 

“Exactly! And I'm a thief and a liar,” Nori said with a wink. “Wot's the matter then? Afraid you'd aimed too high?”

 

Bofur frowned, and Nori grabbed the hat from right off his head, making him splutter.

 

“Nori, no!”

 

Nori spun out of his grasp and ran off, quick as his light-footed steps could carry him, while Bofur pursued, knowing full well it was a terrible idea.

 

Nori barely paused when he gave a masterful flick of the wrist and dropped Bofur's hat down on a familiar head, and Bofur stopped in his tracks as the dwarrow shouted “Oi! Nori, you mad git! What's the big idea?”

 

When he got the hat off and turned, Fili's eyes lit up at the sight of the dwarrow in front of him. “Bofur! Well at least I know who to return this to this time.”

 

Bofur snapped out of his short (and hopefully unnoticed) pause and smiled brightly, hiding nervousness behind a chuckle.

 

“Ya make it sound like it happens often,” he remarked, feigning his usual ease while his heart thumped at a volume he was almost sure the other dwarf could hear.

 

“Oh, you know. A trinket here. A stolen pouch there. He likes to drop them with me and run off, and I get the pointy end of a spear before people realize who I am. The guards know I'm not the one nicking 'em but I think Dwalin hates me since I don't press charges, or something ridiculous like that. I mean, Nori's a friend. I don't turn my back on friends. He might even be family, though gettin' Oin to explain why isn't worth the trouble.”

 

Bofur laughed heartily at that, his uneasiness slipping away. Fili was smiling widely, teeth flashing ivory under the gold locks of his braided moustache. He was a fine lad, grown right into the royal bearing he'd learned from Thorin. Though Kili was clearly Thorin's favourite among the two, Fili was most like him—gruff but soft and good-hearted, with a good laugh to be had even with such serious faces.

 

But unlike Thorin (who was, granted, attractive to any dwarrow or dam with sense with his voice, strong features, and the heroic figure he cut), Fili was...

 

Well.

 

He was something else.

 

Bofur loved freely and happily, but before, if somebody ever asked him if he had ever _fallen_ in love the way he knew many dwarrows had done before him, he would have nothing to offer but a jolly shake of the head.

 

Nowadays, if Bofur had been asked the same question, his would be a grim nod, his lips sealed shut in a manner most strange for the loquacious dwarf.

 


	52. Lies and Agreements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Thranduil plays his hand and Thorin doubts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yayyyy plot relevance!

Bella watched helplessly as Thranduil had Thorin dragged before him, long before she had had the chance to find him and the others, scrambling to hide away from keen elvish ears, even with the ring on to do just that for elvish eyes.

 

Thranduil was not kind in the ways Bella thought mattered, but he was not foolish, and knew he had to make his play before she could, and she watched in tense silence as the king of the realm began to sow doubt in the heart of the king under the mountain.

 

“Have you not had your fill of mockery?” Thorin demanded through clenched teeth. “Or did you simply wish to lord your cruelty over me once more, as if a hundred years in exile had not done that already?”

 

“Such a hard tongue, so weighed down by insults and assumptions. It is indeed a wonder that you should win such unerring loyalty,” Thranduil remarked, amused.

 

“Not so. Unlike elves, dwarves are neither faithless nor disloyal to whom they pledged their service to,” Thorin responded.

 

“I do not speak of dwarves, o exiled king. A pretty thing, this companion of yours, for somebody so strange. Was that why you allowed her on this quest? For what use might she have to such an obstinate, untrusting dwarf, beyond her appearance? Dwarves always have had a weakness for pretty things, after all. Hair like gold, eyes like precious stones... I do not doubt she has an appeal that would speak to the greed of your heritage.”

 

Thorin's expression was thunderous, but his eyes were painted with fear that Bella could see from even a distance. She bit her lip, forcing herself not to call out to him, even as Thranduil went on.

 

“For whatever purpose, whether that of the surface or something deeper, it is clear to me that you and your company mean dearly to her, so willing was she to speak on your behalf. I wonder if she is as dear to you as you are to her, for if you do not wish to parley with me on more pragmatic matters, perhaps you would be swayed by matters of the heart.”

 

Thranduil's face was ever lordly, letting nothing show, though his smugness could have filled the room the way it radiated from him, knowing from Thorin's own stiffness and silence that he had hit his mark.

 

For a while, both kings stood there, saying nothing, Thranduil waiting and Thorin deliberating, while Bella held her breath from above.

 

“Where is she?” Thorin forced out eventually, his hands clenched so tight that Bella feared he might break the skin of his palms.

 

“She is safe,” Thranduil said softly, and it surprised Bella, and perhaps Thorin as well, that his tone did not have the cruel tinge of triumph in it. “Somewhere you cannot find her, until such time we come to an agreement.”

 

“I will not agree to anything until I see her,” Thorin snarled.

 

“And you will never see her if we do not agree to anything,” Thranduil said, all of him seeming to harden, from his words to his eyes and posture. “You are not the one in power here, Thorin Oakenshield. How long are you willing to risk the halfling on your own stubbornness?”

 

Thorin looked about ready to argue again, but the fight seemed to leave him even as Bella watched, wishing hopelessly that her dwarf would not relent.

 

“The terms?” he said eventually, quietly, defeated.

 

“I believe there are none fairer than that which I have already set. The white gems we were promised long ago, and more besides, once you've taken the mountain back, however you might think to do it. Your victory would be of no great loss to me, for you know as well as I our two kingdom's fates would be tied to one another once more—perhaps even three, should Dale prosper once more. But the foolishness of facing the dragon who has slumbered on his hoard for a lifetime of Men, it is your own. I will let you go, with provisions enough for your Company and safe passage into Laketown, but for the sake of my people I will do no more.”

 

Thorin nodded slowly, with much difficulty, but with no more barbed words on his tongue. He knew that this was the best he could wish for, especially in the bargaining for the freedom of his company, as well as of his beloved.

 

“I agree to your terms,” Thorin said. “And what of... what of the halfling?”

 

Thranduil leaned back into his throne, a gesture Bella realized was deliberately done to hide his unease.

 

“She will remain in my halls as an honoured guest, until such time it is safe for her to return to you, should your quest find a successful conclusion,” Thranduil said.

 

“What right do you have to keep her here?” Thorin demanded roughly.

 

“Simply to ensure that you will not go back on your word,” Thranduil said coldly. “Should you be persuaded to when you are no longer in my lands. Or would you rather risk losing her to the dragon's wrath when you waken him?”

 

“Let me see her,” Thorin said, not backing down completely.

 

“You shall see her when I deem it fit,” Thranduil said haughtily, “perhaps when it is time to say your farewells, but not before. For now, you will be escorted to the dungeons to tell your company of what you have agreed to, and bind them by honour of their word to keep the same agreement. I will allow you all to rest in more comfortable lodging until the end of our feasting on the morrow, and speed you to the end of your journey afterward.”

 

It was at this point Bella had to scramble down, knowing she had to find out where they would take her dwarves so she would not have to waste time seeking them out later.

 

Beyond that, she had to tell Thorin that Thranduil had lied, though she could not imagine how they could indeed go on to the mountain without his assistance.

 

She did not hear the last of Thorin and Thranduil's conversation as she went.

 

“You care about her deeply, don't you?” Thranduil said, intrigued and amused, but sounding very near to genuine.

 

Thorin said nothing, but his face, as schooled at it was to blankness, could not hide the answer from Thranduil's wisdom and experience.

 

“What do you think you will find under that mountain that would ever bring joy to the folk of the kindly west? What do you have to give her that she would ever want, to make her stay? And most of all...” Thranduil paused, and Thorin felt as though he'd been punched in the gut when he spoke again.

 

“What will happen to her if you fall under the thrall that your grandfather did so long ago?”

 

Bella found Thorin just as he was being led away, his head bowed low enough that she couldn't see what he looked like, though she guessed that he was ashamed, something that she wished she could dispel.

 

In her mind, she began to devise her own plan, her footsteps silent as she chased Thorin's retreating figure beyond two too-tall elven guards.

 


	53. Imaginings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bella and Thorin plan, and Thorin dreams of good futures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still trying to improve on this fic, but for now I'm starting the ball rolling again so I can hit the more interesting bits. Thank you so much for everybody still reading and commenting!

Bella went on in caution the moment she realized Thorin was not being led back to the cells with the other dwarves. She thought he would at least be sent to explain the situation to the company, but if Thranduil intended to separate them, she knew it would be easier to find a dozen dwarves than one, so she took to following the one.

 

Thorin didn't seem to notice until much later that he was not to see his companions, his posture proud as ever but his eyes far away, deep in thought in a way that made Bella want to hold his hand through the journey.

 

She had to keep from gasping when she saw the room he was led to, small for an elf, but sizeable for a dwarf alone and for a cell (for that was what it was, despite all the trappings). It was grand, grander than any cell had the right to be, the door thick and solid with banded steel across, the walls dark, but tastefully so, sunlight streaming in a single ray from the high ceiling, shining against the corner, though there were lanterns hanging from fine chains or fixed upon elegant stands for when that light gave out with the passage of time.

 

Bella had had difficulty counting the days since they arrived in Mirkwood, but the task looked to be much easier now, even underground as they were, by way of Elvish magic or innovation.

 

The elves ordered Thorin stay, though he demanded mulishly to see Bella, a demand ignored as the elves made their way out the door. It took Bella only a moment to decide it, but she slipped past them before they locked the heavy thing behind them, effectively trapping herself with Thorin, at least until the serving of his next meal.

 

She couldn't even ponder on whether or not she made a mistake, too relieved to finally be alone with her dwarf.

 

She made to take the ring off her finger, a strange, foreign voice in her head railing against it, but it was drowned out by her excitement, a moment's hesitation gone in an instant as she spoke.

 

“Of course you may see me, though you might have to look a little harder,” she said, and Thorin jumped, tensing in a warrior's stance despite his lack of weapons, his eyes already searching the room for what was on hand, when Bella slid the ring off her finger and into her pocket, grinning widely as Thorin stumbled back.

 

The shock hadn't left his face even as he near dove forward, punching the air out of Bella's lungs as he hugged her in the hard, affectionate dwarven way that she'd only ever experienced with the more rambunctious members of their company.

 

“But how did you get past the elven guard?” Thorin demanded after his exclamations of delight, of which Bella could not get enough of. He was always so reserved, it was nothing short of wonderful to have him express so much joy even under such dire circumstances as these.

 

“I can be sneaky when I want to be,” Bella defended, though she could not keep the smirk off her face as she slipped her hand into her pocket, ready to show Thorin the ring, and nearly falling over when she felt the blood rush from her head, a sudden reeling of the mind that overwhelmed her senses for a moment.

 

She waved it off when Thorin held her by the arms, steadying her in his grip and asking her gravely if she was alright, if the elves hurt her, and how it was that Thranduil came to know of her existence if she was free, and not in his captivity as he'd claimed.

 

“I'm fine, Thorin, I... I may have accidentally let my guard down and got caught trying to find you and the others,” Bella admitted sheepishly.

 

“You were caught? But how did you escape? Elvish prisons would not give easily to a troll, let alone to a dwarf or hobbit.”

 

“Dwarves,” Bella muttered, shaking her head. “You think I forced my way out? No, Thorin, I simply snuck away, lucky enough to have gotten out before they shut the door on me.”

 

“And I suppose none of the elvish guards with their keen eyes saw you as you did,” Thorin said significantly, “disappeared as you were.”

 

“Indeed,” Bella said, the strange prickling under her skin coming back, her focus faltering once more, though she ignored it in favour of drawing out the ring and showing it to Thorin. “I found this in the... the tunnels, when we were accosted by the goblins. I didn't realize what it could do until a little after I'd found it. I was able to distract the goblins long enough to help you escape after Gandalf.”

 

“So even then... the goblins didn't see you then,” Thorin said, sounding both relieved and incredulous at once. “You were the one helping us—all those lucky accidents.”

 

“Lucky!” Bella sniffed. “Indeed, it's clear how much the company of Thorin Oakenshield needed a fourteenth member as their luck charm, as it didn't take me long to realize that the luck I gifted you all had to be strong indeed. The day you left me behind, you were nearly killed by stone giants, then goblins.”

 

“I suppose that's what we get for leaving our luck behind. By now the quest would have been lost without you,” Thorin said, a smile playing on his lips but his words solemn. “Only you could chance upon such a valuable trinket and use it as well as you have.”

 

“Apart from getting caught in the middle of an elven kingdom,” Bella retorted.

 

“I think you've more than made up for that, and may yet do more. I'm afraid I must ask more of you, though you've done so much already.”

 

Bella smirked wryly. “You don't need to ask me to do what I've already been doing.”

 

“Indeed. I know you can take care of yourself, but I must also ask you to return here as often as you can, at least so I know you're safe, and perhaps so you can partake of a meal without having to steal from the elves' kitchens,” Thorin said, his mouth quirking at the idea of stealing from Thranduil's own stores. “I have every confidence in your skills, my burglar, but I still hope you'll exercise caution in this. Meanwhile I will try to figure out a way to make Thranduil think I'm agreeing to his terms, buy you some time.”

 

He kissed her forehead and invited her to wait for their food, his face not betraying a thing when they heard the elves approach later and she once more disappeared from sight, though he could feel her touch at his shoulder when he stood.

 

Even at his height, he had mastered the art of raising his head and looking down on those who imagined themselves above him, and even imprisoned, his pride had not yet diminished.

 

When the elves were gone, Bella returned to sight, explaining that the world of the ring was a wild, tumultuous thing, like the gale winds of the high pass of the mountains blowing constantly in her ears.

 

Her hands were cold when he held them, and they sat together eating the filling meal that the elves had left, surprisingly including meat, though Thorin remembered that the elves of Mirkwood were not gardeners the way those of Rivendell were, but hunters.

 

The next hour or so, they spent leaning against each other, first speaking of plans and tactics, then of nothing of great consequence, such as Thorin's experiences on the road after he left the Shire so long ago, or of Bella's infuriating relatives and her responsibilities as the heir of the Baggins' family living under Bag End.

 

“I will stay,” she began, studying her now lank curls, “but I think I must at least send word to home so they'll know how to deal with my belongings. I did leave in a bit of a hurry, of course, all I could spare was a letter to my gardener and erstwhile caretaker Hamfast Gamgee, that I would be gone for a long time and that he should make sure my garden doesn't go to ruin while I'm away.”

 

Thorin kissed the back of her hand. “I want you to stay,” he admitted, “but to leave your home... I know the value of a true heart's home, Bella, and I wouldn't take you away from yours.”

 

Bella shook her head, pressing her hand against his chest, feeling the unusual warmth unique to dwarves under her palm and the beat of his heart at his breast, no longer covered by armour.

 

“My heart is here,” Bella said. “And it took me a long time to admit it, to remember what it was like to believe in something. And I believe that everything will work out in the end, and that I will find my home with you, no matter if it's under a grand mountain or in a good, comfortable, warm hole in the ground.”

 

For the time spent between Bella's claim and Bella's departure, Thorin imagined spending ruling days with Bella at his side, a benevolent and wise and beautiful queen to dwarves. When the elves came to take away the tray they'd served his food on, and Bella was gone even though Thorin couldn't see her go, he imagined something different.

 

He imagined, as he had experienced so long ago, in a time where everything seemed peaceful and hardship seemed so very far away, a life in a comfortable armchair by a hearth warmed by love and home, sitting beside an older, but happier Bella Baggins, bringing something back to Bag End that had not been there for a very long time.

 

He imagined, and fell asleep with the life he'd woven for himself with his beloved, heartened by the possibilities.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just couldn't get this idea out of my head ;)


End file.
